Little Blossom
by EnoughOfThisDance
Summary: Post-Somalia fic with a twist. While in Africa, Ziva found an unusual guardian angel. Now she has trouble letting go. Keywords: Child, Recovery, Kidnap, Hostage. Possible romance later in the fic. Please note author pen name change - author is the same.
1. The Return of Ulysses

**AN: I wanted to do a fic based on Somalia, but since I knew there had been so many good ones already, I decided to add a twist. I tried to be realistic, but we'll call anything that's unlikely to happen in real life 'artistic licence'.**

**When I first started this it wasn't even meant to turn into a fic. It was just a flight of fancy that I needed to get out of my head, never intending to post it anywhere. I started typing, and suddenly I couldn't stop. It began to take shape in my mind, and all at once it was as though it had a life of it's own. So I'm letting it run it's course. I hope you enjoy it.**

**By the way, _The Wind in the Willows_ is a real book by Kenneth Grahame. It was a wonderful part of my childhood, and I recommend that anyone who hasn't read it should definitly do so, especially if you have children to read it with. If you don't have children it is still a winderful read, and enjoyable for all age groups.  
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**Disclaimer (hate these things): I do not own NCIS or _The Wind in the Willows_. No copyright infringment intended.  
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* * *

"So," Tony said lightly, resting against his desk, at which Ziva sat, "where did she come from?"

He watched his bedraggled partner as she gazed at the child who currently played at her old desk.

It had taken some time for the hubbub over their return from Somalia to die down, and they all felt like they'd run several marathons. It had been a harrowing several hours, almost as tiring as the journey itself. No one had ever seen Abby look so serious as she had at the moment when she'd greeted Ziva. The Mossad officer could still see the haunted look in the scientist's eye as she'd touched her face with trembling hands and pulled her into a hug so soft and gentle it did not feel like Abby. There had been endless greetings and congratulations once the applause had died down, until at last Vance had offered them a reprieve and ordered everyone back to work. Throughout it all Ziva had been fighting the instincts that were screaming at her to run. One face blurred into another until she couldn't identify the people who'd worked for so many years in the same building as her. Each and every time she felt arms around her she had to fight not to tense up or lash out, even though the rational part of her knew they were meant to be kind gestures. They did not know that they squeezed too tight, held her too roughly, that she did not trust any of them enough to want them so close to her. She felt Abby squeeze her hand every time she was too slow to smile at the owners of the too-loud voices all around her. After so long in quiet isolation it was all far too much. Her head throbbed; the harsh lights overhead like daggers in her brain. All the time she forced her weary body to remain standing unaided, resisting the dizzy sensation that made it hard not to sway. She couldn't faint. She had to keep her eyes on the little one.

Ducky had leant in close to Ziva to whisper in her ear that, after she'd taken a moment to rest and get her bearings, she might like to join him in autopsy for a cup of tea and a 'chat'. Ziva knew that this was code for a health check. She knew, because she'd quietly begged Gibbs not to force her to go to hospital, and this was the only other option he'd allow her. Abby, who had refused to let go of Ziva's hand for well over an hour, had finally fallen asleep at Gibbs' desk, unable to bring herself to return to her lab. Only Gibbs had been able to convince her to allow Ziva to get as far away as the other side of the bullpen.

Now all was quiet. Gibbs was with Vance in the Director's office. McGee was fast asleep at his own desk. Everyone else had drifted off home, one by one, leaving theirs the only part of the bullpen still dimly lit. Ziva was slumped in Tony's chair with a blanket around her shoulders, and they were both watching the child, unable to sleep. The calm silence was a gift.

"Ziva?" Tony said, gently prompting her out of her reverie. The assassin blinked, exhausted, and wearily forced herself to sit a little straighter. He offered her a chip, but she once again declined, as she had with every offer of food he'd presented her with since the escape. The one time she'd tried to eat had resulted in her vomiting and almost passing out. It seemed all she could manage at the moment was sips of water and the occasional cracker.

"She came to me on my third day there," Ziva sighed, resigning herself to finally telling the story, "to this day I still have no idea how she found her way in and out of my cell. She was like a little mouse. There was nowhere that she could not sneak into. It was the first time since I had been there that I had not been bound to a chair. She came out of nowhere, just appearing before me like a ghost. I thought perhaps I had dreamed her. I could barely see her because my eyes were swollen almost shut. She helped me drink a little water and asked my name. But then I heard Saleem coming, and she disappeared again. She came back the next day, with a small amount of bread. She told me her name was Lilly, and then she was gone again." Ziva paused to take a few steadying breaths, flinching when Tony's hand came down softly on her shoulder. He gave her a gentle squeeze, and after a moment she raised her own hand to cover his. Little Lilly, completely swamped in a blanket similar to Ziva's, had wandered over to the nearest window and was standing on tip toe with her nose pressed against the glass. Tony's expression grew strained as he remembered the truck ride out of the camp.

_They rode in the back of the open topped truck, in a tense silence, with Ziva passed out on one bench. All eyes gazed alternately at Ziva and the little girl that no one had expected to find. Back in the camp, Tony and McGee had thought Ziva was confused or hallucinating when she began to beg them to stop and find a child. They'd panicked when she began shouting in a hoarse voice, afraid of attracting attention to their position, but were stopped in their tracks when a tiny figure stumbled out of the chaos of gunfire. Seeing her, Ziva had struggled out of her comrade's arms and collapsed to the ground, pulling the child into her protective embrace. The child wailed as a burst of gunfire sent a body crashing into the wall at the end of the corridor, and the adults watched in awe as Gibbs, clad in camouflage, rounded the corner. Ziva had continued to call out in Hebrew to the child even as they were wrenched apart, Tony and McGee heaving Ziva to her feet and Gibbs tucking the child under his arm. The next few minutes seemed to last for hours before they were safely on the truck, the sound of gunfire having come to a halt behind them. The little girl, who'd huddled close to Ziva the moment Gibbs had let her down, was tugging at the unconscious woman, trying to wake her._

"_Don't do that, sweetie," Gibbs said quietly, breaking the silence "Ziva needs to rest."_

_The child's wide eyes turned to him, her voice coming out in a nervous whisper. "But she's missing it,"_

"_Missing what?" Tony joined in, immediately regretting it as he grave eyes landed on him._

"_The sky. I can see the sky,"_

Coming back into himself and noticing Ziva's curious expression, Tony relayed the short exchange to her. Her breath came out in a sudden _whoosh_, and she looked momentarily winded.

"It had been many months since she had seen the sky, I think. She came to me nearly every day, although sometimes I did not fully believe she was real. How could she be? Sometimes she would bring food or water, other times she just sat with me. As the days went by she would stay longer and longer, and we started talking. I found out that she had been with the terrorists for a long time, but she was not sure how long. From what I could understand she was allowed to wander around the camp as she pleased, so long as she stayed unnoticed. It was as if they had forgotten all about her. She told me she sometimes stole or begged from some of the less mean of the men, and that was where the food and water came from. She said she knew secret ways to get to all the places in the camp, but I was too weak and outnumbered to make an escape attempt. She always knew when Saleem was coming, and got out of the way before he got there. I never saw how she got out, but I suspect there were some loose bricks between my cell and the next. She always had a book with her. It was this grubby little thing, torn and stained with blood, but she seemed quite attached to it. I think she must have held onto it when she was taken from wherever she came from, and has managed to keep it all that time. Sometimes, when I was not too tired and I could see well enough, I would read it to her. She could not read, she told me."

Ziva paused, watching Lilly breathe onto the window and draw shapes on the glass with her finger.

"What was the book?" Tony asked, trying to prompt her gently. Ziva frowned.

"A child's story about talking animals. A mole, a rat, a badger and a toad,"

"_The Wind in the Willows_?" Tony asked, smiling.

"Yes," she said, sounding faintly surprised, "I did not see the sense in it, but Lilly would ask me to read it over and over again. I think that it comforted her. Other times I would teach her simple phrases in Hebrew. She speaks Spanish as well as English, though she spoke neither very well when I first met her. Spanish was better because the others could not understand it. I could talk to her without fear of being overheard. But she said she liked how I sounded when I spoke in Hebrew. I needed to do something to keep her occupied, and out of trouble. She helped me stay strong too. But we had to be careful, because I do not think Saleem would have allowed things to continue as they were if he had known she visited me."

"What else did you do together?" he asked, trying to steer her thoughts away from the bastard that had tortured her.

"There was not much to do, and little time to do it. Saleem never left me alone for long and I was often too weak to do anything. Sometimes she would just lie next to me on the floor, a comforting presence when I was barely conscious from the pain. Those were the times that I was sure she was a dream." She took a shuddering breath to compose herself, glancing at Tony, and soldiered on.

"Sometimes we drew things in the dust and sand. I taught her how to tie knots in a bit of rope that was lying around. When I was too tired she told me stories about somebody called Winnie the Pooh and other strange characters."

Tony chuckled, then sobered. "Sounds like she was an angel. Did McGee tell you what he found out about her?"

"No, he did not. I think he is worried of overwhelming me."

"Do you feel overwhelmed?"

"I feel . . ." she sighed in frustration, "I am troubled. This all seems so unreal. I have dreamed such things before . . . I do not know how to trust that what has happened is not my mind playing games on me."

"You mean playing tricks on you," he corrected automatically. She shot him an exasperated look and he crouched beside her chair. "Give me your hand,"

"Tony—"

"Just trust me."

Ziva cautiously took his offered hand, her eyes growing watery as he pulled her wrist gently and placed her palm against his chest. "Can you feel it?" he said softly, his heart beating a comforting rhythm against her hand.

"Yes," she breathed.

"Does it feel real?"

"Yes,"

"Does it feel nice?"

"Tony!" she said indignantly, snapping right out of her trance and smacking him on the arm.

"Ow!" he pouted, tipping backwards and landing on his ass. "Jeez, I try to be nice . . ." he grumbled in mock anger, laughter gleaming playfully in his eyes.

"Now I _know_ this is real," Ziva said, gesturing impatiently, "You were much less annoying in the dreams!"

"But was I as good looking? You know, I find it interesting you seemed to dream about me so much . . ."

Ziva groaned, blocking out his voice and dropping her head into her hands.

"Aw, c'mon Zee-vah. You need to hear this." His voice took a serious tone and she narrowed her eyes at him through the gaps between her fingers. "Lillian Simms, age eighteen months, was taken from her bed a little over a year and a half ago, and judging from the state of her, those are the same PJs she was wearing when she went missing. She turned three a few weeks before you arrived in Somalia. Her parents were both naval intelligence, her mother born in the US to Spanish parents, explaining why Lilly speaks the language. Lilly was smuggled out of the country in a matter of hours, after which she was used in an attempt to bribe her parents into revealing naval secrets. When her parents were unable to supply the information the terrorists had them assassinated here in DC."

Ziva glared at a spot on the desk. "They must have chosen not to kill Lilly because she posed so little a threat, and she might have made a useful hostage one day. I dread to think what other uses they may have found for her. I very much doubt she was left alive because they had any trouble in killing a child," she muttered darkly.

"The point is that there isn't anyone we need to notify, other than child and family services. Her last grandparent died shortly after her parent's assassinations and her only living relative is and aunt who's currently living in a care home. Autism." He explained regretfully.

"So she is all alone in the world," Ziva whispered.

"Hey," he murmured, "she's got you, hasn't she? With everything you've been through together, I'm sure she'll want you to visit her, wherever child services places her."

Somehow this didn't seem to improve Ziva's mood. Their conversation was halted when she felt Lilly climbing into her lap. The little girl tipped her grubby face up to gaze at Ziva.

"I want to hear about Toady and the boat," she said in a voice so soft that it was clearly meant only for Ziva's ears. Tony felt a strange lump in his throat at the sight of them.

"I am sorry, little blossom, I do not have the story book anymore. We left it behind by accident."

"In Africa?" she whispered, her thumb finding its way to her mouth.

"Yes, in Africa. I cannot read to you today."

Lilly's face took on an expression of grievous loss, her eyes growing watery. She snuggled close to Ziva, closing her eyes and sucking her thumb, her other hand grasping a handful of the woman's shirt. Ziva's arms closed protectively around her, rocking her slightly as she stroked the girl's hair.

"I am sorry, little one. We were like the Toad, yes? When he escaped the nasty jail and left all of his money behind by mistake."

Lilly mumbled something, her whispery words muffled by Ziva's shirt. "What did you say?" the woman asked.

Lilly pulled back and took her thumb out of her mouth just long enough to say, "And his pocket-book and his keys and his watch and his matches and his pencil-case," in one rapid stream before hiding her face in Ziva's stomach again.

"Uh, _how_ many times did you read that book?" Tony said incredulously.

"We like the escape chapter a lot," Ziva said simply, and Tony immediately felt bad. "Come on, little flower, we have kept Ducky waiting for far too long. See you later, Tony," Ziva said, getting up and leading Lilly away by the hand. Tony caught the little girl's reverent whisper as the pair turned the corner into the elevator and he lost sight of them.

"He's not a real duck, is he?"

* * *

"You know, Ducky, when you said 'tea and a chat', I did not think you meant it," Ziva said, humming her appreciation as she sipped the hot tea the medical examiner served her.

"Ah, my dear, one should never underestimate the medicinal powers of a good cup of tea," Ducky smiled, relaxing in his desk chair and raising his own cup to his lips. He suddenly straightened. "My dear sweet child, don't touch that!"

Across the room Lilly froze, her hand on the handle of a morgue drawer. She slowly turned, looking sheepish.

"Sorry,"

"Yes, well, it's quite alright. Why don't you join Ziva and I, and have some tea?"

Lilly trotted over obediently, the blanket that she clutched around her shoulders dragging on the floor behind her. The doctor poured her some sweet, milky tea and handed it to her, and she wrapped her hands appreciatively around the warm cup. The little girl seemed reluctant to try it though, sniffing it suspiciously and glancing at Ziva with big eyes. The woman murmured something in Hebrew, and the child took a small sip. Her face filled with wonderment, and she took another sip. Ducky looked at Ziva questioningly.

"It has been a very long time since Lilly has tasted anything other than bread and water and dried meat. I do not think she has ever tried tea." The doctor nodded understandingly.

Lilly was staring at Ducky through narrowed eyes, apparently trying to decide something.

"Did you have a question, my dear?" he said lightly.

"You're not a duck," Lilly stated accusingly.

"Lilly! We talked about this in the elevator, remember?" Ziva choked, caught between laughter and horror. Ducky laughed.

"And whatever made you think I was?" he chuckled.

"Well . . . Moley's a mole and Ratty's a rat and Mr. Badger is a badger and Toady is a toad, so why aren't you a duck?" the little girl said, all in one breath. Ducky's brow crimped.

"Lilly's favourite story book is full of talking animals. She is quite enamoured with them," Ziva explained. Ducky's expression cleared.

"Ah! _The Wind in the Willows_, hm?"

"How does everybody know that?" Ziva muttered, exasperated.

"A very famous book, my dear, a classic. Originated in Britain, might I add, and—"

"Ducky, it is getting late."

"Of course, of course, onward to less pleasant business," Ducky sighed, setting down his cup. "From what I can see, Lillian has no obvious injuries. To your knowledge, was she hurt at all while in Africa?"

"I do not think so, no," Ziva said.

"Good, then I don't think we have to worry about broken bones or internal haemorrhaging," He addressed Lilly. "Do you feel well, my dear? No bumps or bruises, cuts or scrapes?" Lilly shook her head slowly. "You don't have a tummy ache or a head ache? You don't feel sick?" Another shake. "Excellent. Now, let's a have a look at you, just to be sure." He hoisted Lilly up to sit on the edge of the closest autopsy table and did a short examination of her. He pronounced her to be suffering from malnutrition and vitamin deficiency, but she had no obvious signs of disease or infection. He took a blood sample for testing, which made Lilly cry a little, but she calmed down a little when Ducky kissed her on the top of her head and gave her a lollypop. When he lifted her down from the table she ran to Ziva for a comforting hug and to show her the lolly. Ziva glanced at the Ducky over the top of the child's head, coming to a silent agreement with him. Together they cleared a space on Ducky's desk and piled the folded blankets onto it. Ziva helped Lilly climb up, tucking her beneath the top layer of blankets, with Ducky's coat folded under her head for a pillow. At this point the doctor slipped away to the other side of the room, giving the two girls some privacy. Ziva perched on the edge of the desk next to the child, holding her little hand and stroking her hair. Lilly's gaze was nervous, her hand gripping Ziva's as tight as she could. Ziva smiled softly, and sang quietly in Hebrew until the little girl eventually fell asleep, her grip turning slack and her eyes fluttering shut. The Mossad agent sat with the sleeping child for a few moments before forcing herself to join Ducky at the other end of the room. She had been dreading what was to come, and broke out in a nervous sweat as she walked from the darkened part of the room where Lilly slept to the harsh lighting where the doctor waited. Understanding her uncomfortable expression, Ducky could only express his sympathy and support by silently touching her hand as she slowly sat herself on the edge of the autopsy table furthest from the door, where no one looking in could see them. He'd taken the precaution of lighting the 'biohazard' sign outside the door, so that nobody would walk in and surprise them.

They started slowly. He placed a towel around her shoulders and examined her head for injuries. He'd brought special equipment in anticipation of making this as easy as possible, and took the time to comb through her hair with a brush dipped in warm water, first with soap, then without, until her hair was clean of sweat and blood and dirt. Her expression remained stoic even when soap got in her wounds or he accidentally passed over a sore spot with the brush. She appreciated the care he was taking. He then applied antiseptic cream to all her cuts and grazes, using stitches where necessary. By this point she had begun to relax, but she tensed up again when he motioned for her to remove her shirt. He looked away while she undressed, making a point of preparing things from his medical bag, but when he turned back and saw her he was momentarily thrown off guard.

"Oh, my poor dear. I'm so sorry," he croaked.

Ziva refused to meet his eyes. "May we please get this over with?" was her whisper.

Ducky cleared his throat. "Yes, of course. I'll do what I can, and hopefully there won't be anything that requires you to go to the hospital."

Once again he cleaned and stitched her cuts and burns. Every inch of skin that he cleaned revealed new bruises beneath the caked on blood and dirt. Ziva let him work without making a sound, her tense muscles the only evidence of her discomfort. They did x-rays that revealed broken ribs, which Ducky debated with himself about for a while before deciding that they could just about get away with not going to hospital. He made sure they were all set properly before binding them with bandaged wound around her chest. There were a few more brakes in her right arm and hand, either from the torture itself or from trying to defend herself. Most were only fractures, and he strapped a brace on her wrist and put her arm in a sling. Her middle and ring fingers had been broken and left to set incorrectly, so that he was forced to re-brake them before setting them and binding them together with her fourth finger to keep them still. Even under anaesthetic Ziva had to stifle her moans in his shoulder as he did this. She confessed to the occasional ache in her shoulders where, at one time or another, they'd each been dislocated and she'd had to fix them herself by ramming into a doorframe. He pulled a face at this, and tutted. Though he didn't say it, Ducky was marvelling at how she'd been able to hide the pain of her injuries all this time. Lastly he took a blood sample as he had with Lilly, which would be given to Abby for testing early in the morning.

With the exam finally over he moved away to write down some instructions for her while she dressed in some clean medical scrubs. While he was distracted, she took the opportunity to let her composure slip for just a moment, taking a few deep breaths and wiping a single tear from her eye.

Ducky came back, crooked his finger under her chin, urging her to look at him. For the first time in hours, Ziva met his intense gaze.

"Between all the welcoming colleges and Abigail attaching herself to you like a limpet, I never got to say how relieved I am to see you, Ziva," he said softly, his voice dropping the businesslike tone it'd taken during the exam. "I am so glad you're home and you're safe."

She allowed him to pull her into a long, grandfatherly hug, almost losing control at the feel of his arms around her and his gentle hands patting her back. She had almost forgotten what a kind touch felt like, or rather what it felt like to welcome a touch from anyone but Lilly. She heard him clear his throat, and when he let her go his face had adopted a stern look.

"Now then, about my diagnosis. Here is a list of instructions, which I expect you to adhere to _to the letter_. Most of it is available over the counter, but the pain and sleeping pills will need a prescription. I can't write you one, but I have a friend who works nearby, who will gladly write you one in the morning. I've included multi-vitamins for Lillian, and some details about what to feed her. You both need to regain a lot of strength and weight, but the key is little and often. Eat too much all at once and you'll both probably get sick. You have to keep all your open wounds very clean and make sure you take your antibiotics. I think the most important thing for Lillian at the moment is rest . . . and a bath. Ah, Jethro! Right on time, as always."

A glance over Ziva's shoulder confirmed that her boss had indeed just strode into autopsy, the ever-present coffee cup in one hand. The other hand held a plastic bag, which he dumped in Ziva's lap. Inside, to her amazement, she found a new copy of _The Wind in the Willows_, the beautiful water-colour on the cover depicting a rat and a mole in a little blue boat on a river beneath a large willow tree. A large toad in a smart checked jacket stood on the landing stage near to the little boat, and among the hills in the background was a cheerful looking castle.

Ziva stared at Gibbs, feeling her eyes prickle slightly. "How . . . ? Did Tony tell you?"

"Nope. DiNozzo was long gone before I was done with Vance. All done, Duck?"

"Yes. No hospital visits necessary, I am glad to say."

"Good." Gibbs took a long swing of his coffee and tossed the empty cup in the trash. Turning away, he motioned Ziva to follow. "Let's go."

She slipped down from the table, looking confused. "Wait, go where?"

"My house," Gibbs replied without looking back. He had reached the desk where Lilly slept.

"And Lilly is coming with us?"

Gibbs paused to look round impatiently, "Well, yeah. Unless you'd rather leave her in autopsy."

Ziva almost smiled at the familiar tone, and she hurried to kiss Ducky on the cheek and whisper a thank you. Gibbs had Lilly cradled in his arms, blankets and all, and was waiting in the elevator.

* * *

**The next chapter is pretty much finished, but I'm holding it hostage because of the pitiful number of reviews I've had in comparison to all the hits and favorites and subscribtions. It's all very well and good to subscribe, but if you want more you have to ask.  
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**Thanks for reading.  
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	2. Like Summer Tempests Came His Tears

Hours later Gibbs was leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, unnoticed by the two people inside as they got cosy beneath the duvet on his bed. He smiled into his cup of bourbon as Ziva made a great show of groaning and stretching indulgently, sighing about just how _soft_ and _warm_ and _comfortable_ the bed was. He tried not to dwell on how it must be a jolly sight better than sleeping on a dirty stone floor.

Lilly wasn't buying into Ziva's trick. She'd been fine when Ziva gave her a long bath, hadn't complained as the dirt was scrubbed from her skin and the tangles gently teased out of her extremely matted hair. But when it came to bedtime she was adamant that she wasn't tired. Ziva had been trying to convince her for the best part of half an hour.

"Okaaayyy . . ." Ziva sighed dramatically, "I will just have to give you your surprise now."

"Surprise?" Lilly asked, pretending to be disinterested, but subconsciously shifting closer. Now she was clean she had _finally_ been parted from her dirty, ragged, far-too-small-PJs. She now wore one of Gibbs' old t-shirts as a nightgown, though it was so big the collar kept slipping down so that one bony little shoulder poked out. Ziva reached out to straighten it and tuck the blankets closer as she spoke next.

"Only if you _promise_ to at least _try_ to go to sleep."

"I promise," Lilly said eagerly, all pretence gone. She fidgeted with anticipation, but when Ziva produced the book that Gibbs had given her earlier, Lilly went very still. She took the book and held it reverently on her lap, tracing the cover with her tiny fingers. Ziva tucked some of the child's chocolate coloured hair – which had grown to her waist from going so long without being cut – behind her ear, smiling when she got a good look at the girl's wonder-filled eyes.

"What do you think?"

"Is that what a river looks like?" Lilly asked, her fingers stroking the image.

Ziva's smiled slipped briefly, but she forced it back into place. "Yes. And one day soon we will go and see a real river. Maybe we can even go in a boat like Ratty and the Mole."

"Pretty . . ." Lilly whispered, transfixed.

"We can read _one_ chapter. Would you still like to hear about Toady and the boat?"

Lilly frowned, considering. "No. The first bit. Where Ratty and Mole go on the picnic in the boat."

"Of course," Ziva said. Lilly snuggled in close to Ziva's side, and the woman settled low against the headboard with her good arm around the child. "_The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters . . ."_

As Gibbs took in the scene he was hit with a familiar pang of grief. Visions of his wife and child reading stories and singing songs at bed time swam through his mind, making the smile fade from his face. He thought for the millionth time what he would give to be able to read and sing with them one more time.

_Hush little baby, don't say a word. Daddy's gonna buy you a mocking bird . . ._

Ziva still had not noticed Gibbs, or was doing a very good job of pretending. She read in a practiced, soothing voice, even putting on silly voices for the different characters to make Lilly giggle. The child got a faraway look in her eye as Ziva described the river, but recovered when Ziva nudged her so she would join in to chant a passage they obviously knew well.

"_All was a-shake and a-shiver – glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and bubble._"

Eventually, Lilly fell asleep. Ziva carefully deposited the book on the nightstand, shut off the bedside lamp and lowered herself and the little girl onto the pillows. Gibbs had made up the spare room for her, but she stayed, her eyes glued to the child in the near-darkness as if trying to convince herself that she was real. When at last her eyes fell closed too, Gibbs heard her let out a long and shuddering sigh, as if to let out everything she'd been holding in. Gibbs watched for a while as Ziva held the child close. Finally her breathing became deep and measured, and Gibbs finally left.

* * *

At first, Ziva resisted consciousness. Sleep meant she'd be left alone, but wakefulness meant pain was not far off. The first thing that she noticed was wrong was the smell. Still half asleep, she frowned, her nose wrinkling as she tried to decide what was wrong. Then it came to her. There was no stench of stale cigarette smoke, nor gunpower, nor the putrid odour of sweat and vomit and human waste. Most noticeable was the lack of the metallic tang of blood in the air. Instead she could smell . . . fresh air . . . coffee . . . _sawdust?_ The assassin groaned; her goal to remain asleep forgotten. She rolled over, and became aware of unfamiliar softness cradling her aching body. She wasn't lying on the ground. Now she knew something was amiss, and forced herself to open her eyes, her breath catching as she tried to comprehend what she saw. Not a cell, but a bedroom. Her breathing grew rapid, her heart pounding as she leapt from the bed and stumbled to the window. Was this some sort of cruel trick? Were her captors tormenting her with false hope? Wrenching open the curtains revealed blue sky and wispy white clouds above leafy trees and rich green grass. Tears sprang to her eyes as it all came roaring back to her. _She was free_.

The bedroom belonged to her boss, Gibbs, as did the over-sized t-shirt and sweats she wore. Ziva grabbed a fistful of the cotton shirt and raised it to her face. It even smelled like Gibbs; sawdust with an ever-present undertone of strong coffee. As more of the previous day's events became clear in her mind it occurred to her that Lilly was gone. She'd been there when Ziva had fallen asleep, and Ziva instinctively grew anxious. Her fears evaporated when she stumbled to the kitchen doorway and saw Lilly at the table. Her breath escaped her and she sagged against the doorframe, feeling winded.

Hearing her sigh, Lilly twisted in her seat and her face lit up when she saw her friend.

"Ziva! Look, Gibbs made me a banana milkshake with real bananas and _ice cream_!" the little girl gushed, holding up a half drunk glass as proof. Ziva shot a glance at Gibbs, who was leaning against the counter, unsurprisingly drinking coffee. Having gotten her breath back, she strolled into the room.

"Ice cream for breakfast? Very healthy."

"It's nearly eleven hundred," Gibbs corrected, "besides, it was on the list."

"Ducky recommended milkshakes?" Ziva said sceptically.

"Bananas. Best way to get kids to eat fruit is to make 'em drink it," he said, shoving a cup of coffee into her hands. Ziva sipped it cautiously, wincing at the overpowering strength of it. Over the rim of her cup she saw a paper bag with the label of a pharmaceutical company on it.

"What is that?" she growled suspiciously.

"Meds. McGee dropped 'em off this morning, and some clothes for you and the kid."

"You sent McGee shopping?" she said, spotting more bags on the floor by the table. A thought occurred to her. "He did not take Abby with him, did he?" Abby's eclectic style of dressing sprung to mind. Gibbs shook his head. Ziva merely nodded, but sighed inwardly. She put down her coffee cup in favour of rummaging through the bag, dismayed at the vast number of bottles inside. She noticed that one contained syrup rather than pills, and the seal had been broken. So had the seal on a bottle of child's vitamins.

"You gave Lilly her medicine already?" she asked, glancing up at Gibbs, who nodded once. "How did you get her to take it?" Ziva suspected that funny smelling syrup and little pills were not something that Lilly would be tempted to eat without looking to Ziva to make sure it was safe.

One corner of his mouth curled up. "Another advantage of milkshakes. She doesn't even know she took them."

Ziva wasn't sure if she liked this or not, but had to admit that she would not have thought of it.

"Go shower and get dressed," Gibbs said, "there's a child services worker coming to NCIS to pick Lilly up in a couple of hours."

Ziva's stomach dropped, and it was with great frustration that she snatched up the bags of clothes and headed for the bathroom. Gibbs' voice stopped her at the kitchen doorway.

"Want to know what the first thing she said to me this morning was?"

Ziva looked over her shoulder. "Do not try to tell me she asked for a banana milkshake, because until this morning she did not know that such a thing existed."

Gibbs ignored the impatience in her words and smiled as he replied.

"Ziva snores."

* * *

It was with a heavy heart that Ziva followed her boss into the elevator in the navy yard and up to NCIS. She felt too guilty to look at the little girl, who hung onto her hand and bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet. Lilly was dressed in a new long sleeved shirt and denim dungarees, and Ziva had even taken the time to part her hair into two very long French braids. Lilly was excited to have shoes for the first time in over a year, and couldn't stop fidgeting in her new sneakers. She held her new copy of _The Wind in the Willows_ tightly in her free hand.

She'd recovered well from the revelation that her parents were dead. Ziva was unsure exactly how well Lilly understood what dead was, but the child seemed to know that she'd never see mommy or daddy again. She'd asked Ziva if they were in heaven, and Ziva had, not knowing what else to say, told her yes, and that grammy was with them and they were happy. She'd gone on to explain that they'd loved Lilly very, very much, and that they had been very sorry to lose her all that time ago. She told the child to try not to be sad. Lilly had solemnly and heartbreakingly said that it was okay, that she didn't really remember them anyway. And now here they were, with Lilly wriggling and tugging at her unfamiliar new clothes. The elevator pinged and the doors slide open, allowing the soft hum and buzz of people working to surround them and pull them out of their uncomfortable silence. No one paid much attention as they crossed the room. McGee and Tony each sat at their desks, case-less and looking bored for it. Though they were both patched up and in clean clothes, both still bore signs of their perilous rescue mission. Neither seemed bothered by the cuts and bruises though. McGee was tapping away at his computer and trying to ignore Tony, who was lazily firing tissue balls at him through a straw. Both sat up straight when they saw the trio moving towards them from the elevator.

"Ziva," Tony said, surprised, "didn't expect to see you back here so soon."

"I will not be staying long. I have to visit my landlord and see if my apartment is still unoccupied. He put my things in storage for me when I left. Lilly," she addressed the little girl, "go play with McGee." McGee started to stammer his protests, but Lilly was already tying knots in his shoelaces. Ziva settled against Tony's filing cabinet so that they might talk without being heard.

"So," Tony said uncomfortably, "what's going on with the kid?"

"Child services are sending someone to pick her up soon. She is to be placed in foster care," Ziva said, her voice carefully flat and emotionless.

Tony squinted at her. "But you're not ready to let her go, are ya?"

She turned her head and shot him a piercing look. "She kept me sane for months, Tony. I worry about her whenever she is not where I can see her. Of course I am not ready. But there is nothing that I can do."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Be realistic, Tony. What am I supposed to do, adopt her? I do not qualify to adopt a child."

"Says who?" Tony shot back, beginning to get riled up, "I looked up adoption laws, and there's no law against a non-US citizen adopting a US child so long as you're living and working legally in the US."

"Tony, I do not have a job. I do not even have a home at the moment. For all I know I could get deported."

Tony spoke sharply, catching her attention, "You know as well as I do that Gibbs won't let that happen. Not in a million years."

"There is no way to guarantee that. Eli may order me back to Israel at any time. He has already revoked the Mossad liaison position. I no longer have a purpose here."

"You can't go back, Zee. There's no way. Forget your father. Gibbs will make sure he can't get anywhere near you ever again. We all will." He got up and moved in front of her, forcing her to look at him. "What your father did was unforgivable. You can't go back. You need to stay here, where you're relatively safe, even though you're in danger half the time you're here, but you get the idea. The point is that you can't let him tell you what to do anymore. Consider yourself ex-Mossad."

Ziva took a deep breath. She saw McGee watching out of the corner of her eye. He was staring, having forgotten all about the child at his feet.

"He's right Ziva. As rare as it is and peculiar as it may sound, Tony's right."

Tony snarled in response, "I'm always right, McProbie. Because I'm the senior field agent."

"Not when I'm around, you're not," Gibbs said in passing, heading for Vance's office.

"Right boss!" Tony said at once, wincing at his mistake. He waited for Gibbs to get out of earshot before pulling a face. "Forgot he was still there."

At that moment the elevator dinged, and two people walked out. One was a grim faced NCIS agent, the other a squat man with limp blonde hair and a cheap suit. He was wearing a visitor's badge. The agent led the blonde man straight over to their section of the office, and Ziva's heart sank as she realised the moment had finally come. She had to say goodbye to Lilly. The agent introduced the other man as a social worker from child services. Ziva was barely aware of the man shaking her hand, hardly noticing how far away his voice sounded. She felt like she was suddenly underwater, its weight pressing down on her from all sides. She didn't catch the social workers name. She came to her senses only when she felt Tony's hand on her arm, pulling her back to reality. She muttered something about saying goodbye, talking to no one in particular. Turning away she was faced abruptly with Lilly, who was looking up at her expectantly. The poor child was blissfully unaware of her fate. For the moment.

Time seemed to slow to a stop, as it often does when one faces a turning point in one's life. Ziva became acutely aware of her surroundings, whereas she could hardly feel her own body. She felt like she was floating. Her mind filled with the smells and sounds of the moment. The clatter of keyboards and the whoosh of the elevator doors. The vague scent of bad coffee suddenly became an unbearable stench, and the buzz of a fly circling a light bulb overhead felt like a tremendous roar assaulting her eardrums. Despite all this, her vision tunnelled, and all she saw was Lilly. Innocent, trusting Lilly, who's world was about to be shattered. _Again_.

The seconds which had felt like hours abruptly reverted. Normality returned, for Ziva had made her decision, chosen which turn to take. She whirled back around and fixed the social worker with a determined stare.

"You will not need to take her away. I am going to adopt her."

Tony hissed out a victorious 'yesss!' and punched the air. McGee stood up in shock and promptly fell flat on his face, forgetting that Lilly had knotted his shoelaces together. The social worker, if anything, looked bored.

"That's not how it works. You can apply for adoption through the courts. There are lots of forms and assessments and thought put into whether you fit into the necessary criteria. If you qualify you will get custody of the child, but in the mean time she must be put into the care of a foster family."

"Why can she not stay with me? Why must you take her away?"

"There has to be very special circumstances in place for me to recommend that a child stay with an alternate caregiver, none of which apply here. Now I've got lots of things to do today so say goodbye and we'll be going."

Ziva swallowed, trying to rid herself of the painful lump in her throat. She knelt before Lilly, desperately wondering how to explain.

"We have to say goodbye now, Lilly."

"Why?" Suspicion crept into her voice.

"You have to go now."

"I don't want to go. I want to stay with you forever." Lilly's little brow furrowed. Ziva swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

"You have to go with the nice man, so he can take you to some nice people who will look after you."

"But . . . you look after me. Nobody do that before."

"I wish you could stay with me, little flower, but it is not allowed."

Lilly was beginning to panic. "I don't wanna go back to the bad place!"

"You will not! You never have to go there again!" Ziva soothed, her voice thickening.

"But they'll get me! If you're not there they'll get me! Don't let the bad men get me!" she begged, tears wetting her face.

"Okay, time to go, before we all get too worked up," the social worker interrupted, grabbing Lilly's hand and tugging her away. Lilly screamed, attracting the attention of the whole office, and seized hold of Ziva's sleeve. No longer clutched in her hand, her book hit the ground with a painful _thud_.

"I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go! Ziva, don't let them take me away! Please!" Lilly's shrieks quickly brought the office to stillness, the only other sound the hum of disapproving murmurs. Lilly continued to struggle to escape the government man's grip. Ziva caught the man's eye.

"Please do not do this to her," she said softly.

His gaze was cold. "It's the rules. Come on, Lilly, let Ziva go."

This only made Lilly cry harder; her whole body shaking with the force of her sobs. People, hearing the commotion, started appearing on the balcony and stairs, drawn out from other parts of the building. Gibbs and Vance were among the first to arrive at the scene. Gibbs looked ready to get involved, but a warning hand on his arm made him pause.

"There's nothing you can do. Don't make it worse," Vance said in a low voice. For once in his life, Gibbs listened.

The social worker was beginning to grow tired, and suddenly hoisted Lilly off the ground. Lilly's grip on Ziva failed, and she went into a frenzy. Terrified, she began to scream for help, begging Ziva to save her. "Don't let them hurt me! Don't let them take me!"

"Now, stop this! I've had enough! If you don't start to behave, there'll be trouble!" the man growled, hoisting Lilly higher and carrying her away. Lilly grew yet more scared, if it was even possible.

"I'm sorry! Don't hurt me, please! Don't wanna go back in the dark!"

Ziva's control slipped, and Tony only just managed to grab her in time to stop her from lurching forwards and striking the man.

"Cool it," he warned her, "if you hurt him they'll never let you and Lilly be together,"

"He is frightening her!" she hissed back, fighting against him with her furious eyes fixed on the struggling child.

"There's nothing you can do now. Don't ruin your only chance at getting her back."

Realizing the futility of her actions, Ziva stopped struggling and went limp. Tony's arms remained around her, supporting her and offering what little comfort he could. Thankfully the social worker had been too occupied with Lilly's screaming and kicking to notice Ziva's attempt at strangling him. He had reached the elevator and was waiting, Lilly still writhing in his arms, for the doors to open. The little girl was still going strong, fighting and begging not to be locked up again. Ziva called after her in mixed English and Hebrew, shouting what Tony could only assume were reassurances, for all the good they were doing. Lilly continued to panic. There was a ping, and the doors slid open. Abby's voice, loud and unexpected, cut through the screams.

"I heard there was troub—what the hell are you doing?"

Lilly finally grew exhausted and went limp, her panting the only sound in the sudden silence that filled the room. Abby stepped out of the elevator, and everyone shrank back. No one had ever seen her look so frightening. Her body was rigid and leaning forward, as though barely restrained from lashing out. Her fists were curled so tight at her sides that her knuckles stood out, stark white. Her face was set like stone, her brow smooth and her lips down-turned and pressed into a thin line. She had her head tipped forward so that her narrowed eyes were half hidden behind her eyelashes. They burned with untempered fury. The closest she'd ever looked to this were the times when she reminded them all that she could kill and leave not a scrape of forensic evidence. But all traces of playfulness were gone. It was the first time the black hair and all the skulls and buckles and spikes had looked truly and completely intimidating. Dangerous. The anger seemed to roll off her in waves, so strong it was felt right across the room. Her whole body seemed to thrum with it, like it was alive and fighting to be released. The social worker took one look at her and stepped back uncertainly. Abby repeated herself, her voice quiet and dangerously low as she punctuated her words with slow steps forward. "What . . . the hell . . . are you . . . doing?"

"The, uh, child has to be placed with a foster family. I'm taking her . . . to . . ." he trailed off, letting slip a little squeak as he backed up into an office divider.

"Picture this," Abby snarled, still advancing slowly on the social worker, "you're a little girl, snatched away from her mommy and daddy in the middle of the night. You're so young that you don't have a hope of understanding what's going on, but old enough to know that something's wrong and be terrified by it. You're gagged and tied up and stuffed in a sack and thrown in the back of a van. You're bumped around on the floor until you're bruised all over, but you can't cry because you get kicked if you do. You're driven for miles then stuffed in a secret compartment of a plane or boat, where you can't move and it's so hot and stuffy that you can hardly breathe. The next thing you know you're in a place unlike any you've ever seen. It's hot and dry and you're so confused that you might as well be on another planet. For over a year you're locked up in a dark, hot little building, forced to move through crawl spaces and holes in the walls because you are beaten and shouted at in a language that you can't understand if anyone sees you. You're only a toddler but you have to steal and beg for food and water," With nowhere else to go the guy was trapped as Abby stood toe to toe with him, her black platform boots making her tower over him, "You're dirty and starving and completely terrified, and you feel betrayed because you can't understand why mommy and daddy haven't come to take you away, so you think they've abandoned you, when the last thing they said to you as they tucked you into bed was that they'd see you in the morning. The only time your tormentors ever speak to you in English is to tell you that you parents didn't want you; that you're filth and everyone hates you." The man had frozen up, unable to speak or even look away. Without once breaking her mesmerising glare, Abby plucked Lilly right out of his arms and placed her on the ground. The child immediately shot straight over to Ziva, who was down on one knee and waiting with open arms. Abby straightened and continued, stepping impossibly closer.

"And then, after so many months that you have forgotten your parent's faces and voices, after being in hell for so long that you know nothing else, you stumble on a stranger. She's a prisoner, bleeding on the floor. At first you're afraid to approach her, because every other human you ever see scares you to death. But she needs help, and you've learned to be brave, so you give her water. And she talks to you. For the first time in over a year, someone speaks softly to you. She is nice, and reads to you and teaches you new things and sings to you. She hugs you, makes you feel safe. You trust her, like you have trusted no one else. She becomes your whole world. Then one day her friends come and you are both rescued. You're brought home, but your world has been turned upside down again. Then you're told that your mommy and daddy and your grammy are all dead, and though you can hardly remember them you're devastated because you loved them and they're all you had. And then someone like _you_ comes along, someone like you and all the other _snivelling. Heartless. Worthless,"_ Abby punctuated her words with hard pokes to the social workers chest, "_Cruel." _Poke. _"Idiotic."_ Poke. _"Incompetent."_ Poke. "_Morons_ down at child services and try to take you away from the _only_ person you have left, the _only _person you trust, the _only_ person who can possibly understand what you've been through, the _only_ person who MAKES YOU FEEL SAFE!" Abby's voice rose to a full blown yell, her face inches from the trembling government official, "You want to take this little girl away from the last good thing in her life, just because Ziva isn't related to her? Ziva is the bravest, kindest, most loving person that that little girl has ever met in all her time in Somalia. She loves that little girl and Lilly loves her back. Lilly's parents are dead. There is no one else. You want to take her away from the one person who makes her feel safe and LOVED! You, sir, are an ASS!"

Total silence filled the room. Not a soul dared to move. Every person was transfixed by the goth, who was normally the happiest, most carefree person in the entire navy yard. Right now her expression was frighteningly blank, her eyes holding those of the shaking social worker with a death glare. _He_ looked about ready to faint. Even Lilly had fallen silent, watching with wide, red eyes from the safety of Ziva's arms. Time seemed to stop.

Tony leaned almost imperceptibly towards McGee, barely breathing his next words. "Is it wrong that I'm both really frightened and really turned on right now?"

McGee swallowed thickly, "No, for once I actually agree with you," came his barely audible reply.

"So," Abby hissed, her nose almost touching that of the social worker, "what are you going to do about it?"

"Uh . . . I . . . I-I'll make arrangements f-for the child to be p-p-placed in the temporary custody of Miss David. Er . . . she'll h-have to come to my office to sign . . ." his stammering voice trailed off as Abby's eyes narrowed and her arm rose slowly, as if separate from the rest of her body, to point at the elevator behind her. Her expression never wavered, her stare unblinking. Her whisper was so quiet that, if it weren't for the deathly silence, no one would have heard.

"_Go._"

The trembling little man let slip a small whimper and darted around Abby, who stayed still as a statue until the elevator doors slid shut behind him. She then straightened up and surveyed the room. Every single one of the spectators shrank back from her glare. Wordlessly, she turned and stomped across the room, crouched in front of Lilly and fixed the child with an unreadable stare, her eyes narrowed slightly. A moment passed, so tense that the entire room held its breath. Even Gibbs looked slightly alarmed. Then Lilly launched herself at Abby, who instantly swept her up in a crushing embrace. A collective sigh rang out as every breath was released at once, and it was as if a spell had been broken. People started talking and moving about again. Almost as suddenly as she'd picked her up, Abby set Lilly back on her feet and stomped back into the elevator. After a moment's pause Ziva collected the fallen book from the floor, took Lilly's hand and, muttering a short goodbye, left just as suddenly as the forensic scientist.

"Okay . . ." Tony said, looking somewhat confused at Ziva's quick exit, "Remind me to never, _ever_ make Abby mad again."

McGee nodded, looking somewhat dazed, and turned to go back on his desk. A blissful smile crossed Tony's face as he listened to McGee, whose laces were still knotted, crash to the ground once more.

* * *

**Okie-dokie, ladies and gents, here's the deal. Lots of you have favorited or subscribed to this story, and for that I'm very grateful. But I want to hear from you. What do you like? What do you think could be improved? I've got the whole plot all sorted out now, and the next chapter written, but I'm not going to continue posting if I don't get feedback. So if you're reading this, do your bit and write a review. It doesn't have to be a long one. Just contribute. It's not hard.**

**Thanks for reading.  
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	3. Mr Toad

**I wasn't over the moon about this chapter, but I needed to get some things out of the way before moving on with the plot. So it's really just a filler chapter. I hope it's alright, but I can't help but feel it's a bit to fluffy. And it's shorter than I would have liked, but if I filled it out anymore than I already have I think it would get dull.**

**! By the way, if anyone can figure out what the super secret thing (an in-joke, if you will) about this fic is, send me a private message with the answer but DON'T write about it in a review because you'll spoil it for everyone else. I'll put a shout out to the first person who gets it right in the last chapter *makes mental note to not forget that I said that*. I'm not giving any clues, but I'll be very impressed with anyone who spots it.**

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Now that Ziva had Lilly, however temporarily, she suddenly found that she had an endless list of things to do, none of which were made easier by her broken bones or a child who found every new thing so fascinating that she requested to stop and take it all in at every possibility. First, she needed to track down her car. Her move back to Israel had been so sudden that she hadn't had the opportunity to sell it. Once her apartment had been leased, the parking permit that went with it was revoked, and her car had been towed from its spot outside her building. Now it was stuck in an impound lot somewhere. She didn't have a cell phone anymore – that had been left in Israel before she'd even gone on the mission that had ended in her being taken prisoner, and so far she hadn't been able to bring herself to send a message asking for it, and her other personal things, to be returned to her. However, her American driver's licence was still valid, and that had been among the things that her landlord had put in storage for her. So her first errand after leaving the Navy Yard was to go back to her old building and call on her landlord.

He and his wife were an old fashioned, slightly aging couple called Henry and Marcy, who lived in the ground floor apartment of the building. When Henry opened the door – grumbling something about fixing leaky faucets – and was faced with Ziva, he was momentarily too stunned to speak. A split second later she was once again being crushed in endless delighted hugs, first from her giant, white-bearded landlord and then by the more delicate landlady. Their delight on seeing her was only trumped by Marcy's instant adoration of Lilly, who'd been hiding behind the doorframe throughout the entire raucous ordeal. She was naturally very shy at first, mostly hiding behind Ziva's legs and hiding her face when one of the elderly couple spoke directly to her. It wasn't hard to see why, when Henry, even in his golden years, stood at well over six foot tall and had shoulders broad enough to almost fill the doorway. The man had come from a farming family, had a pleasant, ruddy face, and had been known to physically throw out troublesome tenants. He'd also been known to play Santa for children at foster homes all over town, and it didn't take too long for him to win Lilly over with his warm smile and roaring laugh. Lilly took to Marcy quickly too, especially when Marcy said that she had an almond cake in the oven and they simply _must_ stay for lunch. Lilly didn't know what cake was, or lunch for that matter, but she got the gist that they were being offered food, and that made Henry and Marcy good people in her book.

Marcy had cried when Ziva had, in a hushed voice when Lilly was distracted, told them about how Lilly came to be with her. She'd skimmed over some of the worse details of what had happened to her at the camp, but something in the greying couple's eyes told her that they somehow _knew_ that she was hiding things. By the time she'd finished her story Henry had gone red and was gripping her good hand in both of his. His eyes were watery as he mumbled that he'd always known that daft young lad – Ziva assumed he meant Tony – had something tougher in him.

"Salt of the Earth, that team of yours," he'd said gruffly, "you oughtta stick with them. No more of this running off into the sunset and getting yourself in trouble, you understand?"

Ziva had nodded humbly and sniffled into his shoulder when he'd pulled her in for another of his bone-crushing hugs. Before they'd left, Lilly had marvelled at the amazing new taste that was cookies, and Marcy had insisted on taking Lilly into the grand-kids' room to pick a toy. Ziva had protested, but Marcy had told her sharply to hush.

"They have far more toys than they'll ever need, especially since they live two states away and are hardly ever here. But Henry will go on spoiling them, regardless. Honestly, half the stuff in there had never been touched, they'll never notice. Now, Lilly dear, what would you like?"

Lilly looked like she'd just walked into heaven. 'A kid in a candy store' just didn't cut it. She was barely breathing, her eyes the size of saucers as she took in all the wonderful things. Some shiny and bright, some soft and fluffy. All colourful and child-friendly. Many had uses that were alien to Lilly, who hadn't had a toy since she was a baby, but she was nevertheless at a loss with what to pick. Then her eyes locked onto something, high on a shelf, and she raised both hands towards it as if she could make it float down to her using sheer will alone. Henry fetched it down for her, and Ziva rolled her eyes when she saw what it was. A bright green, velvety soft frog. Yes, a little frog no bigger than one of Gibbs' coffee cups, with huge shiny eyes and a wide smile, and curious floppy limbs, and bags of tiny plastic beads that rustled faintly inside like a bean-bag. Lilly was instantly enamoured, cradling it in her arms and stroking its head lovingly. She turned her huge brown eyes up to Marcy, who couldn't contain her grin.

"For me?" Lilly whispered.

"For you," Marcy agreed.

"Forever?" Lilly asked, still not quite believing.

"Yes, baby, forever. Are you going to give him a name?"

"Mr. Toad," Lilly said, dreamily. There was a pause, and Marcy's grin faltered.

"Mr. Toad? But he's a frog," she said in confusion.

"So? Ducky isn't a duck but he's still calleded Ducky," Lilly said, still gazing at the toy. Marcy and Henry looked to Ziva for help.

"Ducky is someone from NCIS. Mr. Toad is a character from Lilly's favourite story."

"Ah, _The Wind in the Willows_?" Marcy said. Ziva's jaw went slack.

"Just how famous _is_ this book?" she said incredulously.

"I have children _and_ grandchildren, dear."

Then it was time to go, and after many more hugs and thank-yous and goodbyes, Ziva and Lilly were finally in a cab on their way to a storage locker in the east of town, now armed with keys, full bellies, and a frog.

The storage locker was significantly less fun than Henry and Marcy had been. It took over an hour to locate the lock-box containing Ziva's bank information, copies of her driver's licence and registration, and off duty weapon, despite Henry's thoughtful labelling system. Ziva took the papers she needed, reluctantly leaving the gun behind in the lock-box, and at last they were able to leave. While she had to leave most of her things behind until she could get a new apartment, Ziva had packed a bag with some of her own clothes, a heady relief. This was bundled into a new taxi, along with a weary looking Lilly. Lilly wasn't a complainer, having grown up far too scared to ever whine or nag anyone, but her movements were getting slow and her expression getting dull. Their next stop was the bank, and while Ziva was organising a new credit card and the cancellation of her old one, Lilly sat down on the floor by her feet and presently fell asleep against the wall, Mr. Toad clutched tightly in her arms. Ziva, though keeping an eye on her, didn't realise she'd fallen asleep until after she'd withdrawn enough cash to fund a shopping trip and had tried to get the child to stand up. It took a moment for Lilly to regain her senses, her eyes looking blearily around as Ziva grasped her hand and urged her on. The man in line behind them was huffing and puffing impatiently by the time they got out of the way, and Ziva shot him a piercing glare as she hefted her heavy bag onto her shoulder and lead Lilly away. A long and expensive taxi ride later – during which time Lilly dropped off again – they were finally at the impound lot where Ziva's car was supposed to be. The guy at the desk was dull-witted and irritable, and by the time Ziva had signed and re-signed the endless flow of forms and agreements, she too had developed a short temper. Lilly walked like a zombie out to the car and immediately dropped off as Ziva buckled her into the backseat. The original plan had been to go on a shopping trip to buy Lilly some more clothes, since she only had those that she currently wore, but Ziva didn't have the heart to drag the poor kid all around a mall in the state she was in. She still needed to get a new cell phone and go to the Administration for Child and Families office to sign yet more forms. Lilly slept through both of these tiresome errands, unconsciously clinging to Mr. Toad as Ziva carried her from one place to the next. At last, armed with a cheap disposable cell phone to tide her over until her old one could be shipped out to her, Ziva was able to take Lilly home.

Home. It held little meaning to either of them. They were drifters, belonging to no one and nowhere. Like a fallen leaf floating in the middle of an endless sea. Ziva still struggled to believe it sometimes. In the quiet moments, between places. That last car journey, with Lilly sleeping and silent in the back, with the world rushing by outside the windows. It felt like a dream. Everything Ziva looked at slipped away far too quickly; disappearing in her wake until she found herself slowing the car to a crawl just so that she could take it all in. Places that she knew well seemed unfamiliar; alien. She could only imagine how lost Lilly must be feeling, suddenly tossed as she was into a whole new world where nothing was certain and anything could happen. Ziva barely realized they'd reached their destination until the guard at the entrance to the navy lodge asked for ID. They were expecting her, and she was directed to temporary lodgings deep in the complex. She was given key and a parking space and sent on her way. She found it through a haze of exhaustion, every movement done automatically and with little thought. She vaguely considered leaving her bag of clothes in the trunk, but her tired brain reminded her that she'd need it if Lilly was to sleep in different clothes. She took the little girl inside first, carrying her in her arms like a baby. She weighed almost nothing, putting much less strain on Ziva's bruised muscles and broken bones than the clothes bag had. The ex-Mossad officer left the child on the first bed she came to, locking the door behind her as she made the short journey back to the car to fetch her things. Lilly had dropped Mr. Toad on the backseat. Ziva retrieved it, smiling at its softness. Back inside, she re-dressed Lilly in an old t-shirt and tucked her into bed. She never woke, as if sensing Ziva's familiar, unthreatening touch. She was concerned to find a half eaten cookie and some crumbling sandwich crusts in the pockets of Lilly's dungarees, obviously stowed there during lunch at Henry and Marcy's when no one was looking. She turned the pockets inside out to brush away all the crumbs. Darkness was gathering outside the window and quite suddenly all Ziva wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep. She felt wrung out, all her energy gone. Everything that had seemed so unreal before suddenly felt too real, and the weight of it all was crushing. Overwhelmed and tearful, Ziva could force herself to do nothing more than kick off her shoes and crawl in next to the sleeping child. Lilly whimpered at the disturbance until Ziva enclosed her in her arms and sang one of the same Hebrew songs she'd sung in Africa, her voice thick and wobbly with emotion that had been repressed for far too long. After a time, sleep crept up on her, and she cried no more.

_It was dark, and there was pain. Unimaginable pain, like burning daggers over every inch of her skin. Each new stab of pain sent a new flash through her mind. Sometimes and image or a sound, sometimes just a vague feeling that she didn't fully understand. She could hear a sneering voice in the distance above her, but it was like her ears plugged with water and all she could really hear were the sounds inside her head. What were they? Something drove into her stomach, winding her, and in her tortured mind she saw . . . a spider web on pale skin. Even as she fought for breath the thing – a boot? – drove into her chest, and, as she felt her ribs crack, her nose was filled with the scent of overpowering coffee. She raised her arm in a feeble attempt to ward off the attack, but she couldn't see where it was coming from. Her eyes were swollen shut; she was blind. Her arm, now protecting her head, felt the force of the next blow, and it cracked. As white-hot pain lanced up the limb she heard a voice . . . just a snatch of a long and rambling story spoken in an English accent._

"_Ducky . . . is that you?" She got no answer – the voice had already drifted away._

_The arm that was protecting her head was snatched up, a hand gripping the fresh break hard enough to make her moan. Another flash in her mind, this time a face. McGee! But in a heartbeat he was gone. The hand gripping her wrist pinned her hand to the ground, and moments later a boot came down hard on her fingers. She screamed as they broke, and this time the flash in her mind blinded her completely. When it faded, Tony's face hovered above her._

"_Don't go!" she cried, reaching for him, but he stayed just out of reach. His cheeky grin was gone._

"_Time to wake up, Ziva. You can't hide anymore."_

"_I am not hiding," she gasped, pain pulsing through her whole body in waves._

"_Yeah, you are. You're hiding from me. From what I did. From what you almost did."_

_He vanished, only to reappear a split second later right next to her. She thought she could almost feel his hand holding hers. "I killed Michael, and for that you almost killed me. It's all your fault that you're here." As he spoke another stab of pain hit her in the leg, and with it came the memory of the moment she saw Michael's body on her living room floor. It was quickly replaced by the sensation of her straddling a body and holding a gun to its chest._

"_Shh," Tony soothed as she cried out in pain and grief. His hand ghosted over her cheek; a caress she could almost feel. "I forgive you, my ninja. It's time for you to forgive yourself. You need to come back. Come home."_

"_How?" she sobbed._

"_Just . . . wake up."_

The next thing Ziva was aware of was being hit with the feeling of sea-sickness. She groaned and rolled over, muttering something about 'five-more minutes, my little hairy butt'.

"Wake up! Wake up!"

Ziva pulled a pillow over her head and tried to ignore the sickening bucking of the mattress as Lilly took pleasure in her new discovery: beds made fun trampolines.

"Wake up, Ziva!" Lilly crowed, getting her feet caught in the sheets and tumbling into a giggling heap.

"Alright, alright! I am awake! What is the matter?" Ziva grumbled, fishing the little girl out from the tangled bedcovers and heaving her onto her lap.

"I hearded birds outside!" the child said breathlessly, pointing at the window, "open it for me?"

"You woke me up to see the birds?" Ziva moaned.

"Mr. Toad waked me up first," Lilly replied, waving the toy in Ziva's face.

"Did he now?" she replied, catching hold of the green blur and fixing it with a glare, "Well, Mr. Toad, maybe next time you should let Lilly sleep so that _I_ may get some sleep, yes?"

Lilly fell into hysterical giggles and hid her face in Ziva's stomach. Ziva couldn't keep the delighted grin from her face. It was like watching an entirely different child, one without the traumatic memories of being locked up and beaten. Ziva wished she could ignore the memories as easily.

"Very well then!" she sighed dramatically, sitting up at last and forcing herself out of bed, "since I am awake now, I will open the window for you."

Window open and birdsong flooding in, Lilly stood on tiptoe and gripped the sill in an attempt to see out. Ziva bent and hoisted the tiny girl up so that she could see, supporting her with her good arm and pointing out the birds in the trees. Lilly stared out the window for ages, her gaze eventually wandering from the birds to the rest of the view. She took in, with wide and wonder-filled eyes, the houses, the trees, the lawns and the grass. And the sky. Lilly seemed to forget time and space when she lost herself in the sky. Eventually Ziva's arms got tired, and she had to put the child down. She left the window open, and Lilly continued to stare out at the sky as Ziva dressed her back in yesterday's clothes.

"Today we are going to buy you lots of nice, new things to wear. You can wear something different every day. Something clean. That will be nice, yes? And we must get your hair cut, it is much too long," she said, manipulating Lilly's arms into the sleeves of her shirt, "Then we can go to the park. Would you like that? A park is a nice place, with lots of grass and trees and flowers, and you can stare at the sky until you go cross-eyed."

Ziva knew Lilly wasn't listening to a word she said. The child was too enchanted by the sight outside the window. It was the sight of freedom. Ziva didn't mind though, and kept on chattering away to fill the silence. It was deliriously pleasant – just being with Lilly without having to worry about being cripplingly hungry or thirsty, or about when the next beating would come, or how much longer before _he_ caught Lilly in Ziva's cell and punished her. Ziva, for a moment, was able to put all those horrors out of her mind, forget the previous night's peculiar dream, and focus on keeping that bright little smile on Lilly's face for as long as possible. Ziva left Lilly to play with the frog while she washed at the sink with a washcloth – she wasn't allowed to get many of her injuries wet yet, so no shower for now – and gingerly brushed her hair and cleaned her teeth. She hunted out some clean clothes from her bag, then, after much cajoling, she convinced Lilly to take her medicine and stand still long enough to have her face washed, teeth brushed, and the tangles combed out of her hair.

They spent the day doing everything Ziva had promised, and more. They ate breakfast at a diner where the waitress cooed over Lilly. They shopped until Ziva's good arm was weighed down by bags and bags of child's clothes. Lilly, who'd never been shopping before, was so fascinated by all the new things to see and smell and touch that Ziva never had to worry about the little girl getting bored. They bought some snacks and went to the nearest park for a picnic lunch – Lilly announced that bananas were her favourite food _in the whole wide world._ She ran her weak, stumbling little run all around the park, shrieking with laughter and smiling like mad.

It was like a dream.

And this was how Ziva knew it couldn't last.

She felt it, _again_, that prickling on the back of her neck.

Someone was watching.

* * *

**A huge thanks to everyone who reviewed after my last post. There were some really wonderful things said, and I'm really appreciative. On the whole, you've all done much better review-wise, but I'm afraid I'm still not satisfied. I know that there are still lots and lots of people who are reading and subscribing and what-have-you, but not reviewing. You know who you are! I want feedback; I want to hear your thoughts about my story. The more reviews I get the faster I'll update. Come on, help spark my imagination!**

**Thanks for reading.  
**


	4. Mr Badger

**A/N: IMPORTANT – PLEASE READ IN FULL**

**First of all, I'd like to give a shout out to everyone who bothers to read author's notes. You guys rock.**

**Secondly, I would like to thank everyone who's reviewed this fic so far. Your comments are wildly appreciated. But I'd like to send out a special thank you to the following people, whose recent and unexpected reviews prompted me to start writing again. So here they are.**

**THANK YOU:**

**Closemyeyesandleap**

**earanemith**

**Megwolf13**

**You may recognise some scenes from the second episode of season seven (Reunion) in this chapter. I tried to stay as true to the episode as I possibly could while still incorporating my own storyline. I'm hoping that it will make my fic just that little bit more realistic. I'm telling you this so you won't all complain that I stole from the episode. I make no claim to own anything borrowed from that episode.**

**Lastly, I will not deny that it's been a criminally long time since I've updated, and to that end I'd putting up a recap so you don't have to reread the whole thing in order to remember what's happening. I've also tried to make this chapter good and long, to try and make up for the wait.**

**RECAP:**

**While Ziva was being held captive in Somalia she befriended a three year old girl called Lilly. Lilly had been kidnapped as a baby in an attempt to bribe her navy parents into giving up government secrets. When her parents couldn't produce the information they were assassinated, and Lilly was forgotten and left to fend for herself in the camp. When Gibbs, Tony and McGee rescue Ziva from Africa they bring Lilly back as well, and Ziva realises that she's grown to attached to the child to let her go into foster care. Abby scares the social worker away (go Abby!), and Ziva is given temporary custody of Lilly.**

**

* * *

**

_Previously in Little Blossom:_

_It was like a dream._

_And this was how Ziva knew it couldn't last._

_She felt it, again, that prickling on the back of her neck._

_Someone was watching._

_

* * *

_A couple more days passed, during which time Ziva tried to re-adjust. She spent more heavenly days with Lilly, shopping and visiting the park. They'd gone to get Lilly's hair cut and shaped, so that now it only hung to the bottom of her shoulder blades and she had bangs that were just long enough to tuck behind her ears. Everything was new to Lilly. She was brimming with questions, needing everything to be explained to her, from streetlamps to mailboxes – and mail itself – from showerheads to television. There had been so little to see at the camp, and she'd been taken at such a young age that she remembered almost nothing of this world. Ziva often caught her examining things in great detail – mesmerised by them. She'd pick blades of grass or fallen leaves and stroke them to see what they felt like. She insisted they stop by a freshly mowed lawn to smell the cut grass. It had taken a while to explain _why_ it had been cut and that yes, it _would_ grow back, and no, it _wasn't _dead now. The TV fascinated her, because she couldn't understand how everything fit inside it. All those tiny people and moving cartoons. Like magic. Lilly could take nothing for granted as other children did. She wasn't accustomed to anything. The only things she knew about were things she'd seen in the camp, and there hadn't been much. Especially since she'd spent most of her time there hiding. It broke Ziva's heart a little every time she was reminded that Lilly had been deprived of everything that a child has a right to. Every meal presented her with brand new flavours. Every car journey saw her with her nose glued to the window, gasping and squealing with delight at the strange things that went whizzing by.

But it wasn't all good. Ziva wasn't the only one having nightmares every night. Twice she had awoken in the middle of the night, wrenched from her own dreams by Lilly's cries. Once she'd woken to find the child awake and sitting up. There had been tears streaming down her face and her breath had been coming in ragged gasps. The second time Ziva had found Lilly in the middle of a dream, crying out and thrashing. So far the child had refused to sleep alone in her own bed. In Somalia she'd made a habit of curling into a little ball by Ziva's side and napping whenever Ziva was left alone long enough. The memories where painfully fresh in Ziva's mind. She'd never allowed herself to fall asleep at the same time in case Saleem came in and found them together. Lilly would have been killed, or at the very least beaten for befriending Ziva. She had a duty to protect the innocent little girl. Now Ziva felt that same sense of responsibility. She held the child and kissed the tears from her cheeks, and once she'd calmed her down she sang to her in Hebrew until she fell asleep again. America was a brave new world to Lilly, and to stray too far from Ziva, even for a short time, was to stray too far from safety, from security.

And that feeling was still there. That instinct that set her teeth on edge and her hackles rising. She knew what it was. It was fear and tension left over from her time as a prisoner. She still expected, in the deepest, most primal part of her brain, that _he_ was going to walk in and attack her again. Her defence system was stuck in overdrive, and she didn't know how to turn it off. It was exhausting, being alert all the time and trying to hide it. She longed for the security of the navy yard. Three days had passed since she had last been there, since that horrendous incident with the social worker, and Ziva was already getting restless. Her status was not yet certain, and neither was Lilly's. On the fourth night at the navy lodge she lay in her bed, with Lilly curled up like a cat beside her, sleeping fitfully, and her mind span with decisions. Tony's words the day after their return from Africa plagued her, sending her into an internal turmoil as she fought to know what to do. Part of her knew he was right. She could not return to Mossad, to her father, not after what he had done to her. But to abandon Israel, her home? Ziva had grown to love the United States over the years, despite its peculiar ways and confusing language. What was unfamiliar had become familiar, what had seemed alien had become comforting in its normality. But despite this she had often missed her homeland bitterly. She knew that if she abandoned it now she would never be able to return. To her father this would seem a betrayal. He would try to get her back, and when he could not do that he would lie in wait for her return, and then she would be killed. To dishonour him in such a way would be to bring about his wrath, and to do that is to sign one's death warrant. She was torn, the choice unlike any she'd ever made before. Shifting onto her side, she peered through the near-darkness at the little girl beside her. All she could see was Lilly's back and arm, which she had curled protectively over her head like a baby bird. Reaching out, she gently rolled the child over onto her back, wincing at the feel of every bone that stood out in her skinny little body. Lilly whimpered in her sleep and wriggled restlessly, her brow furrowed in a baby frown. Ziva stroked the hair at her temples with the backs of her fingers, gazing solemnly at the child's franticly twitching eyelids. She was dreaming again. Soon the moaning would start, then the spasmodic twisting and flinching and the muted cries. Ziva rolled onto her back and brought the troubled child with her, draping her over her torso so that Lilly's head rested comfortably in the crook of Ziva's neck. The short, panting breaths she made as she worked herself up into a panic ticked Ziva's neck, but all she could do was murmur soothing nonsense and stroke the little fingers that now grasped fistfuls of her shirt. Lilly didn't wake that night. Ziva had caught the nightmare early enough that it faded away after only a few minutes, leaving Lilly limp and feverish in Ziva's arms. The ex-assassin did as she had done every other night, and continued to hold the poor baby and blow softly on her forehead to cool her down. Come the morning, Lilly would have no recollection of her fretful night's sleep.

* * *

Gibbs heard her footsteps long before she appeared at the top of the basement stairs. He went on with his work, ignoring her until she chose to speak. She trotted down the steps, looking flushed and slightly breathless.

"I, uh, apologise for being late. The navy lodge I am staying at ran a surprise drill this morning, which frightened Lilly very much, so I just . . ." Ziva's babbling trailed off at Gibbs' expression, "It's not important," she finished, a little sheepishly.

"Where is she now?"

"Upstairs, on your couch. She fell asleep again in the car on the way over here, so . . ."

"How are you?" he said calmly. Ziva's expression seemed to take that of someone who had had the same question asked of her over and over, and had come to expect it.

"I am fine, Gibbs," she said heavily, "That is actually what I wished to speak to you about, amongst other things." The older agent stopped what he was doing and slowly moved back towards the Israeli. "First of all, I, uh, wanted to say . . . thank you," she said, hesitantly holding out a bundle wrapped in coarse cloth. Gibbs took it, starting to untie the string around it. Ziva continued, her voice dropping to a low mumble, " . . . which hardly seems sufficient, considering, so I . . . It is called, um . . ."

"It's an old Buck Morris chisel," Gibbs filled in for her. He turned it over in his hands, examining it, his expression unreadable.

"That is not for rescuing me," Ziva added, her voice now somewhat rushed, "that is for leaving me in Israel. You are probably wondering, perhaps I rigged it to explode—"

"I was thinking this is a really nice chisel," Gibbs cut in again, now with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Ziva took a deep breath, as if forcing herself to regain her composure. When she spoke again, it was with a calm, if slightly wobbly voice. "When you left me in Israel, I felt betrayed. But I . . . I had a long time to think about things. A very, very, very long time. And you were right to leave me there."

"I know."

"But the point is, now I do too. I had forgotten who I could trust. We were a team, and I would like that again."

"You need to talk to the director," he said plainly.

"It is your blessing I came for," she protested, the shake in her voice prominent now. Gibbs' phone went off, halting any further conversation. He moved away to answer it, Ziva watching unhappily from where she stood. Gibbs' brief exchange with DiNozzo over the phone made it clear he had to leave. He hung up and headed for the stairs, moving past the Israeli.

"Triple homicide," he said, this being explanation enough for his sudden departure, "You need to talk to Leon Vance. I already told him to expect you."

She stayed where she was, her composure so unstable that she couldn't even bring herself to watch him leave. As he continued toward the stairs he tossed one last comment over his shoulder, without really looking back. "He's not the only one you need to talk to."

* * *

Later that day, having gone out for breakfast with Lilly since she refused to go back to the navy lodge, Ziva found herself in the familiar halls of the navy yard. Her own nerves as she rode the elevator up to the bullpen surprised her – Ziva was not the type to shy away from a challenge of any sort. But suddenly the idea of putting a brave face on in front of all those people seemed like a formidable task. She suddenly found herself struggling to hold onto her calm, her trepidation growing as the elevator ascended. As the doors opened she caught the tail end of a conversation – or argument – and her anxiety was abruptly chased away by exasperation and faint amusement. For it was Tony's voice that reached her, and his words were so completely typical . . .

" . . . no, _people_ think I'm too handsome, specifically the women people."

Seeing that he was, as usual, arguing with McGee, Ziva couldn't help but cut in. "Actually, I find McGee to be the more handsome. Nothing personal," she added, looking at Tony. Both men looked stumped by her sudden presence.

"Hi," Tony said uncertainly.

"Hi!" a small voice piped up from behind Ziva's knees. All eyes dropped to the source of the voice, who now had her thumb in her mouth and was gripping a handful of Ziva's pant leg. Mr. Toad was held firmly in the crook of her elbow. Tony suddenly crouched down and squinted at Lilly.

"This isn't the same kid. This one has shorter hair . . . and a frog. What'd you do, trade her in for a cleaner model?" he asked, looked up at Ziva mischievously. The joke fell flat under the awkwardness between them. Even after all that had happened, the two each found themselves harbouring residual anger towards the other. Neither had forgotten what had happened with Michael Rivkin before Ziva's fateful mission to Somalia, and now that the excitement of her rescue had faded those bad feeling had returned.

"Do not be ridiculous. This is Lilly," Ziva said coolly.

"No she's not," he said, determined to keep up the facade of playfulness.

"Yes I am!" Lilly cut in, looking affronted. Tony jumped in exaggerated surprise, and frowned at her.

"Are you quite done acting like a child?" Ziva snapped at him exasperatedly.

"Tony's never done acting like a child. Tony _is_ a child," McGee commented. Tony glared at him from the floor. Lilly spotted Vance approaching and waved shyly, remembering him from the day they'd returned from Somalia.

"What, he gets a wave and I don't?" Tony pouted. Lilly stuck her tongue out at him. Tony followed suit. Ziva smiled inwardly. She was secretly happy that Lilly felt comfortable enough to play with anyone other than her. With most people Lilly would not even look at them, much less speak to them, and definitely would never argue with them. It was good that she wasn't scared of Tony. It meant that she understood that he and Gibbs and McGee had been in Somalia to rescue her, and would never hurt her. It meant that she was beginning to acknowledge that there were people around her that she should be happy to see, like McGee and Tony and Vance. That not every man in the world was meant to be feared. This was tremendous progress for Lilly.

"So, what are you doing here?" Tony addressed Ziva carefully.

"David, with me," Vance ordered, drawing their gazes. He strode off again in the direction of his office before any of them could get a word in.

"Well, that answers that question," Tony said, turning back to Ziva.

"I have to go," she said, forcing a quick smile before taking Lilly's hand and heading off after Vance. She chose to ignore the curious looks the two agents shared as shared after she'd turned her back, which neither knew she'd seen.

Up in Vance's office, the Director immediately moved to stand behind his desk and, after a quick word to Lilly to tell her to wait by the door, Ziva moved to stand opposite him. Neither sat down, simply standing on opposite sides of the desk as a quiet formality. Vance spoke first.

"Agent Gibbs has already briefed me," he started briskly, "You want back – that right?"

Ziva was equally businesslike. "That is correct."

"Have you discussed this with your father?"

Ziva was momentarily lost for words. The anger and hurt over what her father had done to her – sending her, knowingly, to her death in Somalia – flared up inside her once more. She could not quite believe that Vance really expected her to have consulted Eli David about her future after all that had happened. But then, the Director never did see with his own eyes what that camp in Africa had been like. In that respect, he would never truly _know_ all that had happened between her and her father.

Ziva, fighting down the anger in order to be civil, replied. "I am not sure how his opinion is relevant."

"We rescued you," Vance said, "Not Mossad, not your father. I think it would be very relevant."

"Have I not been a valuable asset to NCIS?" she snapped back, her hold on her emotions failing.

"Without question," he replied coolly.

"Then what is the problem?" she said, exasperated.

Vance raised his voice, "David, you were never an agent! You were the _Mossad Liaison Officer_, which, by definition, requires you to have a relationship with Mossad. Have you even spoken to your father?" His words struck a chord, and suddenly Ziva felt like all the fight had left her.

"No," she said resignedly.

Vance seemed to calm down with her. "You're damaged goods. How damaged, I need to know before I can even begin to figure out what to do with you. You pass the psych evaluation battery, and we'll talk. In the meantime I understand that you're temporarily taking care of the child that the team also brought back from Somalia. Have you any plans concerning her for the future?"

Ziva considered how to answer, "I am . . . reluctant to let her go. I do not think anyone in the world will ever be able to understand her needs in the same way that I do. However, I am not sure if the proper authorities will allow her to stay with me for long."

"I can understand that. If it helps, I'd be happy to put in a good word for you, as long as you're sure about this."

"I am."

"Okay," he sat down at his desk, signalling the end of the meeting, "We'll talk again after I get the report from you psych eval."

"Thank you," she said, turning to leave.

"David," he called after her. She paused, halfway to the door. "No promises," he said.

Ziva nodded, took Lilly's hand, and left without another word.

* * *

Tony frowned thoughtfully at the screen. "I've heard of a cover story _for_ a bachelor party, but I've never heard of one _being_ the cover story.

McGee silently agreed. The revelation about the case was another example of the peculiar circumstances they so frequently came across at NCIS.

"What do you think they were really up to?" he said, also frowning mildly.

"The usual – no good," Tony replied, getting a faraway look in his eyes for a brief moment before snapping out of it and shooting a sideways glance at McGee. He raised the remote and brought up another picture on the screen. "Any luck on who's following Eric Durrell, our auction house owner?" he asked.

"Nope," McGee said grimly, "and it was over a week ago." They seemed to have hit a dead end on that matter.

"You could try to recreate your victim's daily route by using his cell's GPS history, then see if there are any other cell phones consistently in the same area." McGee and Tony both whipped their heads around to look at the owner of the new voice in the conversation. Tony's eyebrows jumped in surprise to see Ziva standing by his desk. "If so . . ." she continued.

"We've got Durrell's tail," Tony finished, staring intently at Ziva.

"I'm sorry," Ziva began, "I overheard you two talking—"

"No," McGee said, cutting her off, "thank you, 'cause that is extremely helpful. I mean we can pull the GPS history and look at the logs . . ." He stopped talking, frowning as his eyes flicked back and forth to rapidly look from Tony to Ziva and back. They were staring at each other, seeming to have completely forgotten McGee was there. He continued talking, slowly, to test if they were at all listening, "And I'm gonna go do that, after I get a nutterbutter . . ."

"What's a nutterbutter?" A small voice piped up from somewhere around his knees.

"Jeez!" he yelped, jumping back in complete surprise. Lilly had somehow materialised in front of him, and was now gazing up at him with fixed curiosity. He hadn't even noticed she was in the room. Tony, on the other hand, hadn't reacted at all, seeming to have blocked out everything but Ziva.

"Great that's just what we need," McGee muttered, looking down at the small child, "another ninja. I gotta go." He turned to leave, but Ziva's voice held him back.

Without breaking her intense gaze with Tony, she called after him, "Could you watch Lilly for an hour or so?"

"Really Ziva, now isn't a good time . . ."

"Please McGee? I will . . . what is it? I will 'owe you one'."

McGee sighed. "Fine. But just for a couple of hours. No more. I have work to do. Come on, kiddo."

Lilly looked to Ziva for reassurance, and the woman nodded without glancing down.

"Go with Agent McGee, _mamileh_. I'll come back for you in a while," she told the child.

The three year old didn't seem all that happy about being separated from the Israeli, but she did as she was told, and followed McGee. He led her around the corner until they were just out of sight and crouched down, putting a finger to his lips. He peeked around the low office divider to watch the rest of the exchange between his two colleagues, his curiosity as overwhelming as the temptation to spy. He could only hear half of what they were saying over the hum of activity around them, but he could guess the rest. They exchanged light words that felt awkward in the leaden atmosphere. McGee could see the tension between them, even worse than it had been outside the elevator the last time they'd crossed paths. Both insulted each other in what would once have been a jovial fashion, but now the jokes fell flat and they immediately apologised to each other. Tony continued to stare almost constantly at Ziva, but once they'd started talking to each other Ziva could barely look at her former friend. In fact, she looked everywhere _but_ at him – the floor, his desk, the ceiling, his chest. Anywhere but his powerful gaze. McGee shifted slightly – his foot was going to sleep. As he watched, the phone on Tony's desk rang shrilly, breaking Tony and Ziva out of their little bubble and making McGee jump. Tony answered and, strangely enough, handed the phone to Ziva. Ziva looked just as perturbed as McGee, until she held the phone to her ear and heard who was on the other end of the line. McGee caught enough of what was said after the phone call ended to know that it had been Abby calling, and that she was waiting to give Ziva her official welcome home, Abby-style.

"Can't say I envy her that," he muttered to himself. He looked on as Ziva left, noting with interest how Tony stared after her until she was out of sight, then continued to gaze absently into the distance long after she was gone. The computer-savvy agent sighed as he considered what he'd seen. Whatever was going to happen to Ziva in the future, those two needed to fix things between them first.

"Well," he sighed, looking over his shoulder at Lilly "that was enlightening . . . sort of . . ."

His stomach dropped. His head whipped around in all directions, panic building. Because Lilly wasn't behind him anymore. She wasn't anywhere in the office. He'd lost her.

* * *

Director Vance walked into MTAC just in time to see Agent Gibbs finish a video call. As the picture on the screens vanished, Vance stepped forward, a piece of paper in his hand.

"I've got something for you to sign," he said, alerting Gibbs to his presence, "Ziva's reinstatement." He held the form out, and Gibbs took it.

"She passed her first psych eval," the other man said, examining the paper. It wasn't a question.

"She didn't fail, let's put it that way," Vance replied sceptically. His voice took on a grim tone, "Saleem's men put a world of hurt on her, but I think she's viable."

"What's Eli David think?"

"I've got some details to work out. Not gonna try if you don't want her," Vance said, fixing the agent with an uncompromising look. Noticing Gibbs' slight shift at his words, Vance decided to test him, "Or were you hoping that I couldn't work out the details so you wouldn't even have to make that call?"

Gibbs' expression was steely. "I already told you, Leon," he said quietly, "We need Ziva."

Vance answered stiffly, "Yeah . . . I remember." He lightened his tone and smirked, "Well, that should make it easy for you."

At that moment the door at the back of the room burst open and McGee rushed in. Catching sight of his both his bosses, he stopped like a deer caught in headlights. He was out of breath.

"The fire alarms not working, Agent McGee?" Vance said scathingly, "Or is this some new form of exercise?"

"I, uh . . ." McGee panted, ". . . lost, uh . . . something." He bent double, hands braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Gibbs walked over to the viewing seats and casually reached behind the first row. When he straightened up he was holding little Lilly under her arms. He raised her slightly for McGee to see.

"This what you were looking for, McGee?" he said in his usual quiet tone. McGee sagged against the wall in relief. Gibbs shifted the child onto his hip, returning her smile.

"What the hell is a kid doing in _here_?" Vance spat angrily.

"Pretty sure she was listening the whole time," Gibbs said, clearly amused, which seemed to infuriate the Director even more, "She followed _you_ in, a few minutes ago."

"What? There wasn't anyone behind me when I came in," Vance said defensively, but sounding a little uncertain.

"I are quiet," Lilly stage whispered, putting a finger to her lips, "I a quiet little mousy,"

"Young lady," he said indignantly, "this is a secure room, where little girls like you aren't allowed to be—"

"Give it a rest, Leon," Gibbs muttered, bending to place Lilly back on her feet. She tottered over to McGee, who was halfway down the stars by then, and hugged his leg.

"Hello Mah-Gee," she said. She had picked up Ziva's pronunciation of his name, which the little girl still struggled to say.

"You shouldn't just run off like that, I've been looking everywhere for you," McGee scolded, going down on one knee to look her in the eye.

"It was Mr. Toad's idea," she argued, brandishing the floppy toy in his face as proof.

"Of course it was," he sighed, in no mood to fight with a child. The two senior NCIS operatives looked on, one amused, one annoyed, as McGee led the tricky child away. Gibbs chuckled as the younger agent's departing words to the child drifted down the stairs,

"You know what a secret is? Tell you what, let's _not_ tell Ziva you were up here, huh? If she asks, just tell her you were with me _the whole time_ . . ."

McGee got a call from Tony, not five minutes later, to tell him to meet at the bullpen. Gibbs showed up a minute after he did, and a short discussion brought new evidence to light, which they needed to leave the navy yard to investigate – a burn phone, which might well have belonged to the tail they were looking for. In minutes McGee had traced its location, and they were off. Fortunately for McGee, Tony knew where Ziva was, and he quickly found Ziva in Abby's lab. The two women were locked in an embrace and a 'Welcome Home Ziva' flyer hung from the ceiling. Streamers were scattered on the floor below it. After a rushed apology McGee left Lilly with her temporary guardian, promising Ziva that they talk properly another time.

* * *

Hours later, McGee was back at the navy yard, stopping at his favourite coffee stand on his way back up to the bullpen. As he paid for his drink, something caught his eye. The coffee stall was located in a small park area on the yard, filled with trees and benches and the like. And sitting on one of those benches was Ziva. She was staring dreamily into the distance, and as McGee drew closer he saw that she was watching Lilly, who was happily chasing a leaf a few feet away. Ziva didn't notice McGee until he sat next to her and said hi, but when she saw him she smiled.

"McGee!" She seemed genuinely pleased to see him. "You taking a break?"

"I was on my way to the office, came to get a coffee. Saw you sitting there and thought I'd come say hello," he explained, also smiling.

"I was actually coming to look for you," she admitted, "I wanted to say . . . thank you."

He gave a half smile in acceptance. "Did you come to the navy yard just to say thanks, or . . . ?"

She shook her head. "I am, uh, finishing my psych evaluation with Dr. Bracho today."

"Janice Bracho? With the—"

"Man hands and pretty eyes, yes," she finished, "Why?"

"Ah, nothing . . . no," he mumbled, backtracking. After a moment's silence he sighed. "So, how's it going?"

Ziva dropped her head, staring at her hands self-consciously as she tried to decide how to answer as honestly as she could. "I will not deny that these past three months have been . . . a challenge. But it was all in the past, and the past is the past."

"Is it?"

She looked up, smiling and replying confidently, "Yes."

"So why are you avoiding Tony?" he pointed out, trying to be both kind and honest. Her smile faltered, something deep in her eyes telling him that she knew what she was going to have to do, no matter how much she was dreading it. She was going to have to confront Tony.

* * *

She'd seen him enter the men's room, and had no reservations about following him. She slipped through the door barely a minute after him, silently as a shadow. He was standing at a urinal, singing to himself. Ziva stayed by the door, her arms folded and her head tilted as she watched and waited for him to notice her. After a few moments he saw her out of the corner of his eye, and abruptly stopped singing. She kept a stony expression, but inside her heart was pounding and her pulse was racing. Inside, she was terrified.

"How long have you been standing there?" Tony asked.

"Long enough to see that you are well hydrated after your time in the desert," she replied, attempting humour in an effort to mask her nerves.

"And the thinking behind surprising me?" he queried, zipping up and heading for the sinks.

"I was not sure what to say," she admitted, her confidence taking a knock.

"But you were sure it had to be said in the men's room." He'd reached the sinks and begun to wash his hands. She followed him and leaned back against the counter next to him, turning her head to watch. He wouldn't look at her. It seemed that as time wore on from their return from Africa, the tension just continued to grow between them. And where, before, he had stared at her and she had been unable to look at him, now it was the other way around.

"I am sure it had to be said," she said. He continued to ignore her, and making her falter nervously. This was the kind of rejection she had been afraid of all that time that she had been avoiding him.

"Where's the kid?" he asked coolly.

"With Abby." Ziva grew hopeful, thinking he was ready to talk, "They seem to get on very well indeed." Tony said nothing more, and her hope fizzled away. The uncomfortably silence stretched on for several moments, the only sounds the rustle of paper towels as Tony dried his hands. Ziva decided to barrel right ahead and get it over with. "When you shot Michael I almost killed you where you stood—"

"I wasn't standing," he said shortly, tossing the wad of damp paper towels at the trash can without looking.

Ziva felt like she'd been punched in the gut, struck down with guilt at his cold words. She struggled on. "No, you weren't," she stared at her feet, unable to look at his face, "You were lying on the ground, without adequate backup, completely violating protocol—"

"And double parked," he interrupted again.

She looked up sharply. "Yes. I noticed. But that does not matter. Just like it does not matter . . . how it worked out for Michael."

"So what does?"

She shifted closer and firmly placed her hand between his, which were braced on the counter and were currently the subject of his glower. She leaned backwards over the counter in order to get a really good view of his expression. "That you had my back," she replied, softly, "That you have always had my back. And that I was wrong to question your motives."

"So why did you?"

"I trusted my brother, Ari. I trusted Michael. I could not afford to trust you."

He finally looked at her, standing up straight and turning to face her. His words were almost imperceptibly warmer than before, "I thought you weren't sure what to say," he accused lightly.

"Guess I had a long time to think about things." She dared to let her hope return, just a little.

He smirked, then became suddenly serious. "I'm sorry, Ziva."

"No!" she protested at once, "It is I . . . who am sorry." She managed a shaky smile. After a split second's hesitation, bringing a hand up to rest on his shoulder for balance, she went up on tip toe, then leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She lingered there for a moment, her hand lifting to his neck and her thumb stroking his other cheek. Then she dropped back, attempting another smile but with less success. "You were a cop and I should never have faulted you for thinking—"

With speed and vigour that momentarily made her panic, he suddenly seized her upper arms in an iron grip, giving her the slightest shake. She looked up in alarm, then saw the overwhelming look of realisation on his face.

"I'm a cop!" he breathed, practically euphoric as the gears in his brain raced into overdrive, "And I think like a cop!" Whatever she'd said, it'd certainly made something in his mind click. "Genius," he exclaimed as his hands cupped her face and he stared right into her eyes. For one delirious moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but then he was gone, leaving her feeling bewildered, but somehow happy.

After picking up Lilly, who didn't really want to leave Abby just yet, Ziva spent the rest of the day feeling like she was walking on air. The wonderful feeling of relief over the fact that _he didn't hate her_ was hard to believe. She couldn't stop the little smile that crossed her face every time she thought of it. Sure, things were still far from normal between them, but one day they would be. And someday she'd go back to work at NCIS, and everything would be back to the way it was before. Those past four years at NCIS had been the happiest of her life, no contest. At first her new life in America had seemed alien and hard to get used to, but as time went by she'd become fast friends with her new colleagues, something she'd never really had before. At Mossad you could never tell when part of your team would be reassigned, or killed on a mission, or if in fact you'd ever be with the same team twice. It was lonely, and no matter how much she enjoyed her exciting, adventurous work there, it could not compare to having people around her every day that cared about her. People that truly, deeply cared, enough to run off into the desert and walk straight into captivity, then shoot their way out in order to rescue her. People who were willing to die, just so that they could avenge _her_ death. Ziva had learned at a young age how to survive on her own, but that didn't mean she'd learned to like it. Being independent had simply become a defence mechanism, an automatic setting in her brain that functioned to protect her from harm in every way possible. But not at NCIS.

The day only got better, as a phone call from Henry, her landlord, revealed that he had an open apartment in the same building as her old one. And it would be ready for her tomorrow, if she wanted it. She wanted it.

In the mean time, darkness was falling and Lilly was still too scared to go back to the navy lodgings. The surprise drill earlier that day had done a lot worse than just surprise the confused three-year-old, and now the very idea of going back and staying there for the whole night left her pale and shaky and clutching Mr. Toad as tight as ever she could. Ziva knew from experience that sometimes being forced to face your fears at that age did more bad than good, so she resolved to go to a hotel. But there was one more thing she had to do first . . .

* * *

He saw her car the moment he turned onto his street, and knew she would be waiting for him. A glance into her car as he pulled into his driveway confirmed that she must be inside already – all that was in it was a large duffel bag on the backseat. The house was mostly dark when he entered, but a telltale sliver of light escaped from under the basement door. Where else would she be waiting? He jogged casually down the stairs, noting her presence in the corner but waiting for her to announce herself. Ziva leaned against the wall with her arms folded in what would have been a relaxed pose if not for her worried expression.

"We need to talk," she said, stepping out of the shadows. Lilly, who sat in the corner with her toy frog in her lap, had stopped playing to listen.

Gibbs glanced over at them but said nothing, continuing towards his workbench. Ziva muttered something in Hebrew, and Lilly got up and reluctantly headed for the stairs.

"And don't open the front door," Ziva added, calling after her.

Once the child was gone Gibbs took the chair from his workbench and placed it in the middle of the room before the ex-Mossad officer. "Sit down," he said, moving a wooden sawing trestle to face the chair and sitting on it. He looked at her expectantly. After a moment she took another step forward, and began.

"When I came to see you and said I wanted back," she said, finally sitting down, "you said it was the director's call. But I sensed your hesitation. I sense it now," she got up, agitated, and began to pace, twisting her fingers together nervously, "even though I thought I made myself clear. I understand what you did in Israel—"

"You brother Ari," he interrupted. Her eyes shot up to stare widely at him. After a moment of shocked disbelief she recovered her unreadable expression. Her mask.

"You know what happened that night. It was here."

"I want to hear it from you," he said. She said nothing. "You had orders to kill you brother to gain my trust," he stated. The silence was so heavy it seemed to suck all the air out of the room, like they were trapped in their own little bubble of tension.

"Yes," she admitted, her voice carefully blank.

"That's a problem."

Her mask slipped, and the desperation showed through. "You don't understand—"

"You're damn right, I don't understand," he yelled, standing up and advancing towards her with a furious expression. She tried to explain.

"When I volunteered for that mission—"

"You killed you own brother, Ziva!" he bellowed right into her face. His ferocity was so intimidating that she took a subconscious step back, looking almost panicked as she tried to make him listen.

"—It was because I hoped my father was wrong about Ari!" she cried. "And I did not want someone else blindly following orders – I volunteered to protect him, Gibbs!"

His voice took on a dangerous, hushed tone, "You lied to me."

"No, when I told you Ari was innocent, I believed it. But yes, I _would_ have lied to you. He was my brother . . . and you were nothing. But I was wrong about Ari, and you. When I pulled that trigger to save your life, I was not following orders. I mean, how could you even think . . . ?" She struggled to stay calm, choking on her words as sobs welled up and stuck in her throat. "He was my brother. And now he is gone. Eli is all but dead to me. And the closest thing I have . . . to a father . . . is accusing me . . ."

Gibbs took in her wide, glistening eyes and her trembling lip, and he knew she was telling him the only truth she knew. She was frozen before him, like a rabbit cornered by a bear, desperately searching his eyes for mercy.

His expression softened, and his voice followed suit. "Okay."

One word, one simple, soft word, but somehow containing all the acceptance and understanding and comfort she had been looking for her whole life, but had been unable to ask for. Ziva's tenuous control over her emotions snapped, and a lone tear escaped. She continued to stare at him for a few more seconds before seeming to come to her senses, and then she was a flurry of nervous activity. Suddenly ducking her head to surreptitiously wipe the tear from her cheek and sniffling, she whirled around and marched toward the stairs at top speed, mumbling something about it being late and getting to a hotel.

"Ziver," he called, halting her retreat.

"Yes, Gibbs?" she sniffed, half looking over her shoulder.

"Why aren't you going back to the navy lodge?"

She half turned back, "Lilly is too afraid. The surprise drill that made me late this morning scared her, and I will not force her to go back if it will upset her that much."

"That your gear in the back of your car?"

"Yes," she said, a little surprised.

"You can stay here." It wasn't so much an offer as an order. Ziva's shoulders slumped in relief, and she shot him a wobbly smile.

"Thank you. My landlord has an open apartment that he has offered to rent to me on a monthly lease until I can organise whether I will be staying in the country or going back to Israel. He says it will be ready for me tomorrow, so we will not be in your way for long."

Gibbs gave a short nod, and after a moment's silence she turned to go again.

* * *

She didn't make a sound, but Gibbs knew she was there. He always knew when there was someone there. He didn't acknowledge her presence, keeping up the pretence that he hadn't noticed. _Let her come to him, in her own time_. He shifted his weight to his left foot, momentarily pausing in his task in favour of stretching his stiff back. He leaned back, feeling the joints in his spine pop, shaking loose his shoulders and massaging his neck with one hand. As he rolled his head, one direction, then the other, he shot a discreet glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Lilly – wearing footie PJs covered in teddy bears – was crouched in a little ball at the top of the stairs, watching him with fascination from behind the railing. He had been measuring wood for the frame of a new project, but no doubt she hadn't the first clue what he was doing. As he continued to work, she slowly sat down on the top step, gripping the rails with small fists.

"Kinda late for you to be up, don't ya think?" he said, finally looking right at her.

"_You're_ awake," she replied softly. Gibbs merely chuckled in response.

Ziva had put Lilly to bed in the spare room several hours ago, and shortly after had retired herself. Gibbs, in his typical fashion, had continued to work into the small hours, listening out for noise from his two injured charges. He'd first heard the child's footsteps descending the stairs to the ground floor ten minutes ago, and had since been waiting for the door to the basement to open.

"So, why aren't you asleep?" he said nonchalantly. Lilly took this as an invitation to join him, and started to carefully make her way down the stairs, her little legs struggling to reach down the big steps. She got to the bottom, sat on the last step and put her thumb in her mouth. She had the little frog in the crook of her elbow. She rubbed at her eyes with a fist, blinking sleepily at Gibbs.

"I had a bad dream," she said, only removing her thumb from her mouth long enough to mumble the words before popping it straight back in.

"Ziva know you're down here?" he asked, continuing what he'd been doing a few minutes before.

"No. She's sleeping. She has bad dreams too."

He continued to work, barely glancing up. As worrying as this revelation was, he'd expected as much.

"She have them a lot?" he asked. Lilly frowned thoughtfully, her three-year-old brain unable to remember far enough back to decide how many nights in a row Ziva slept badly. She settled for something vague.

"Sometimes. But she doesn't get scared when she wakes up. She's braverer than me."

"Are you scared?"

Lilly started to nod, then stopped herself. "No, but Mr. Toad got scareded. He didn't want to sleep anymore." Her words were childishly disjointed, and in her exhaustion she slipped between English and Spanish without realising it. Gibbs nodded, quietly processing the information. He knew that children often expressed their feelings through fictional friends, and knew that all that the little girl wanted was someone to comfort her and make the nightmare go away. But as he looked at her his heart rose up into his throat, the memory of his own little girl at that age resurfacing unbidden in his mind's eye. But he swallowed the lump in his throat and shot her a smile.

"You don't have to worry about the bad dreams. They can't hurt you."

There was a long pause while Lilly watched Gibbs work, but before long she got fidgety and another little baby frown creased her brow.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you mad at Ziva?"

Gibbs stopped and looked at her. "Now what makes you think that?"

"You shouted at her. The bad man shouted, when we were in the hot place. Did she do something bad?"

Gibbs sighed, and went over to sit on the stair next to her. He lifted the little girl into his lap and fixed her with a gentle look.

"No, honey, she didn't do anything bad. And neither did you. You two were only in the hot place because the bad men who shouted at her wanted to hurt lots of people. And because Ziva was so brave the bad men won't ever hurt anyone ever again. Understand?"

"So it wasn't her fault?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Then why did you shout?"

"Sometimes, when people get mad, they shout. But I'm not mad at Ziva anymore, and I'm not like the bad men in the hot place."

"Is Ziva your friend?"

"In a way, yes."

"And you won't shout anymore?"

"I'll try not to shout anymore."

"Promise?"

"Okay, I promise," he chuckled, "Happy now?"

"Do you live down here?" Lilly asked, switching subjects so fast that Gibbs was left wondering what he'd missed.

"This is part of my house, but what makes you think that?"

"Ziva said you were like Mr. Badger because you were grumpy and kind and you live underground."

"She said I was grumpy?" Gibbs repeated, bewildered.

Lilly nodded, "And kind and you live underground and you're the boss of everybody, just like Mr. Badger." She looked at him with round eyes. Gibbs smirked.

"I'm not the boss of _everybody_."

"Ziva said you made the bad man go away. And she said that we went away from the bad place because of you, but I don't know what that means." She was still speaking brokenly, stumbling over some of the words and pausing frequently to think what to say next, but he got the message.

"I had help," he said softly, "there were lots of people who wanted to get you and Ziva out of the bad place. You remember Tony and McGee?"

She nodded slowly, her thumb back in her mouth. A moment later the tiny child grabbed a fistful of his shirt for balance and stood up in his lap, with Gibbs steadying her.

"Thank you," she whispered solemnly, and hugged him around his neck. He instantly hugged her in return, one large hand splaying across her tiny back. They said no more to each other, and it didn't take long for Lilly's head to begin to nod and her eyes to begin to flutter closed. Barely two minutes later she was fast asleep in his lap, curled up like a kitten with her thumb firmly back in her mouth. He carried her back upstairs to the spare room where Ziva slept. Even in the dark room, Gibbs could tell Ziva had been sleeping badly too. Though she lay quietly now, the sheets were tangled at her feet and the comforter had been kicked to the floor. Her pillow had somehow ended up on the other side of the room. Clearly she'd been struggling and thrashing in her sleep, caught up in a nightmare. Gibbs padded silently over to the bed, lay Lilly down next to Ziva and started setting the bed straight. He untangled Ziva's ankles from the sheets and pulled the soft linen back over the two girls, then replaced the comforter. Amazingly, Ziva didn't wake, even when he lifted her head to replace her pillow. Normally he would have expected her to jump up and shove a gun in his face the moment he got close, but it seemed that she was still too weak from her injuries and too exhausted for her usual instincts to kick in. Either that or she somehow knew on some subconscious level where she was and who was touching her, even as she slept. He tucked their bruised, bony bodies with practiced tenderness, looking down at them in the light from the open door as he recalled his earlier conversation with Ziva. She'd called him her father, or the closest she had to one. That both saddened him and made him proud. She didn't know it yet, but Eli David was looking for her. He was outraged at having his daughter kept from him, and had threatened Vance. He wanted her sent back to Israel, where she'd be under his control again. That couldn't be allowed to happen. He noticed that Lilly's toy had slipped from her grasp, and he carefully tucked it under her little arm again. Something had to be done about her too. They both needed protecting, but keeping them together was going to require the full power of NCIS. The coming weeks would not be easy.

If only he knew.

**A big thank you to all of you who've yet to give up on this fic. But you all know the drill, and if you still want more, I still want reviews. All comments are greatly appreciated, however big or small they may be. So please please review.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	5. The Piper at the Gates of Dawn

She spent some the next day at NCIS, from the beginning of the working day until a couple of hours after lunch. There was little she was actually allowed to do, not being a real agent yet, just help out with paperwork. But it made her ridiculously happy, despite its monotony. Just being there made her feel more relaxed and normal than she thought possible. Lilly was with her, and played quite happily at her feet the whole time, but Ziva knew she'd have to make other arrangements for the child before long. She couldn't keep bringing her to work.

The rest of the afternoon was spent moving things into her new apartment. Henry, the landlord, helped, but there still wasn't time to get things set up properly. Most of her things were dumped wherever they'd fit, and there wasn't time to build any of the furniture which had been taken apart and flat-packed after she'd gone to Israel all that time ago. But even in the chaos of unpacked boxes and haphazardly placed furniture she felt at home for the first time since her return.

She was supposed to be meeting with Ducky again that evening. The old doctor had been up to the bullpen earlier that day to say hello to Lilly and see how she was, and he'd said he was please with her progress. The stick thin little girl had finally begun to gain a little weight, and that mixture of fresh air, sunshine and vitamins had given her skin a healthy glow. But Ducky had also said that it was time for Ziva to have another health check too, and with all her injuries it would require a proper examination. Ziva had been ready to out and out refuse, but Gibbs' timing was impeccable as always and he walked in just in time to quietly order Ziva to either let Ducky look at her or go to the hospital to get checked out. Ziva opted for Ducky, but only grudgingly. The kindly old man had offered to take her out for dinner to cheer her up, and she'd perked up a little. Ziva liked spending time with Ducky, more so these days than ever. It was so easy, being around him. He filled the silence with his wonderful winding stories, never pushing her to talk about Somalia. In fact he never talked about it at all, outside of a medical setting. He was perfectly happy to talk and talk for hours, so that she could relax in his cheerful nonsense, enjoying his tales even if she didn't really follow them. It was never awkward with Ducky. He didn't tip toe around her like the others sometimes did. Ducky was just Ducky. Plain, simple and wonderful.

Ziva realised she couldn't take Lilly with her, partly because she didn't want her to have to see all her wounds again, and partly because she couldn't take her to a restaurant. Abby practically bounced off the walls in excitement when Ziva asked if she would babysit. They agreed that Abby would have to come over to Ziva's new apartment, since the Israeli was pretty sure that all the skulls and coffins and things at Abby's would be just a bit too much for the three-year-old to handle.

Lilly had been excited too, until she realised that Ziva would be leaving.

"Will you come back?" she wailed through floods of tears.

"Of course I will come back!" Ziva exclaimed, wiping away the tears, "Don't worry, _yakiri_, we will see each other again very soon, I promise."

"What if you forget?" Lilly whispered plaintively.

Ziva crouched down to her level and looked her right in the eye. "You are _einayim sheli._ I could never _ever_ forget you. Okay?"

"Okay . . ."

They hugged goodbye, and as Ziva walked away she heard Abby's voice echoing down the corridor before the apartment door closed:

"Alright, now we can have some real fun. I brought supplies. We're gonna do the Soda-and-mint-explosion experiment. A classic, and though way over-used, it never gets dull. And I bet you've never seen what happens when you react sodium and water in chlorine gas, huh . . . ?"

* * *

Most of the NCIS building was dark and empty by the time Ziva got there to meet Ducky, but the autopsy suit was still brightly lit and the doctor could be seen within, whistling to himself. Ziva slowed right down as approached, dragging her feet. Ducky spotted her before she made it to the glass doors, and waved her in.

"Ziva, my dear! Do come in and make yourself comfortable. I'll be with you in just a minute." Ziva perched rigidly on the clean autopsy table, waiting while Ducky hunted out his doctor's bag.

"Right!" he said brightly, producing a stethoscope. Ziva obligingly unfastened the top button on her shirt and tucked the fabric aside so he could place the cold metal against her chest. "Abby tells me she's got the wonderful job of looking after young Lillian tonight."

"Yes. They are probably setting my new apartment on fire as we speak."

"Hmm, yes, I thought she said something about providing the evening's entertainment. Deep breath, please."

The medical exam was much briefer and simpler than last time, to Ziva's relief. Ducky re-x-rayed her broken bones to make sure they were healing properly and weren't crooked, then took out a few stitches here and there made sure no wounds had gotten infected. After about half an hour he announced that she was well on her way to recovery, but was still too thin and wasn't gaining weight as well as Lilly was. He scolded her lightly, ordering her to eat more from now on. She'd stopped wearing the sling on her arm a while ago, having got impatient with it, but Ducky said there was no way she could take off the support brace yet. She'd just have to put up with it. The same went for her taped up fingers and tender ribs. The doctor finished up quickly, and, having already tidied up the suit before Ziva had arrived, announced that they could go.

Dinner was at a sweet but expensive little restaurant, apparently a favourite haunt of Ducky's as the waiters seemed to know him rather well, and the chief even came out to say hello. The Brit launched into a long and convoluted story about a chap he once knew the moment they'd sat down. He seemed able to find an old tale or obscure factoid in everything, from an unusual dish on the menu to the shapes of the wine glasses. Ziva revelled in it all, somehow finding every word more fascinating than she'd ever found his stories. It was just so wonderfully _familiar_, so comfortable. Like she'd never been away. There were no awkward questions about how she was doing, no invasive curiosity about what had happened in Somalia. It was perfect.

Which was why it couldn't last.

* * *

Abby put on her own little firework show for Lilly, making things fizz and pop and burn with spectacular colour and send off sparks. Lilly couldn't seem to decide whether she was delighted or dumbfounded or scared. One minute she'd be shrieking with laughter, the next totally transfixed and the next cowering behind Abby's legs. She was fine once Abby had reassured her that it was harmless, but nonetheless the scientist decided to avoid creating displays that made pops or bangs that sounded like gunshots, or mini-explosions that resembled bombs. Lilly had obviously not forgotten those things since she'd left Somalia. There had been plenty of guns and bombs there, according to the reports, which Abby had secretly sneaked a look at. And had nightmares about.

But Lilly loved the pretty colours and the fizzes and the sparkles. She got so excited that by bed time she was thoroughly worn out. So was Abby. The beds in Ziva's apartment hadn't been put together yet, so a mattress had been made up with sheets and blanket on the floor in one of the bedrooms, and Abby was almost envious of the sleeping child as she went back into the living room to sink into an armchair with her laptop.

A few hours later it went dark, and Abby nodded off in her chair. She was woken by a creaking floorboard. She opened her eyes and was faced with a huge silhouette standing over her.

Abby screamed.

* * *

Ducky took Ziva back to the navy yard so she could get her car, and said goodbye. She watched fondly as the grandfatherly man drove away before getting into her own car and heading home. _Home_. It felt wonderful to think of it as so.

She pulled into her street, and instantly felt wrong. Something was off, the assassin in her could sense it the moment the building was in sight. She remembered feeling similar the night she'd come home to find that Tony had killed Rivkin. Her whole body tensed reflexively, and she killed the engine, letting the car coast quietly to a stop a few doors down. She got out and crept through the shadows, crouching low and hugging the walls of the buildings she passed. When she reached her building she stopped, invisible in the dark to anyone looking down from the apartment. The windows on her floor were all dark, but that could mean anything. She shook her head, trying to force the thoughts out of her head. She was being paranoid. There was no one up there but Lilly and Abby. Abby must have gotten bored, what with the TV not unpacked yet, and had gone to bed early. It was a little after ten.

Maybe the idea of abandoning her life as a ninja assassin upset her more than she realised. Maybe she was jumping at the chance to relive the feeling of danger and excitement. Maybe she wanted there to be danger waiting for her.

Or maybe she was still on edge after her last mission, after Africa. Maybe her nerves were shot and would never be the same. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

She'd almost straightened up and marched over to the front door when she remembered something from her old life. Something an older and wiser Mossad operative had told her when she was young. Trust your instinct. Instinct is what keeps you alive in the spy game. If something feels wrong, then something _is_ wrong, and you should get the hell out of there while you could. Something felt wrong now. Ziva had never doubted her instinct before, and now it was screaming at her. It was too risky to go in through the front door – the key in the lock would alert people inside to her presence, and going up the stairs left her vulnerable. She'd find another way in. If Tony were there he would have declared it 'ninja time'.

She slipped around to the back of her building and in a flash had scaled the wall – climbing up the drainpipes in places and clinging to the gaps between the bricks by her fingertips in others – and found a window to the apartment directly above hers. She stayed well away from her own windows in case there was anyone inside who might see her, but she saw that they were all dark on this side of the building. The strain was too much for her broken bones, and she was in agony by the end of it, but she didn't fall. She allowed herself an acerbic smile. 'Ninja assassins' _never_ fell off anything, no matter how badly beaten up they were. Hanging from the bottom of the frame by one hand, she jimmied the window open with practiced ease and heaved herself up and inside. Whoever lived in that apartment never woke as Ziva checked for any enemies and slipped out the door. They would never know she'd been there until they realised that their window and front door, thought closed, were both unlocked.

She moved like a shadow through the corridors and to the top of the stairs, pausing to listen intently for signs of life. All was quiet. Ziva was getting more and more anxious, but her behaviour was becoming ever more cool and calculating. She was well and truly in ninja mode now.

Wishing with all her might that she had a gun, she loosened her knife in its hidden sheath and crept down the stairs, sticking to the wall so the steps wouldn't creak. When she saw her apartment door hanging open her heart almost stopped. Her training forced her to continue silently and cautiously, but she knew that it didn't matter, that she was too late. Whoever had been there was long gone now.

She searched the whole apartment, flitting from shadow to shadow like a ghost. It was empty. The intruders, Abby, and Lilly were gone.

* * *

_**One hour earlier . . .**_

Abby's scream was muffled by a hand over her mouth. She fought like a wildcat, but more hands appeared and pinned her in her chair. The silhouette leaned close, and whispered in her ear.

"Do not struggle, little girl," the silhouette sneered, "There are many more of us than there is of you." Abby was frozen, her eyes like saucers in the dim light from the window. "You will not scream?" the silhouette asked. Abby managed a slight nod. The hand was removed from her mouth, but the others remained in place, trapping her in the chair.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" she asked, trembling.

Silhouette-man backhanded her across the face, "You will not speak unless you are spoken to!"

Abby stared, stunned.

"Where is the child?"

"W-what child?" she tried weakly. She got another slap.

"Where is Lillian Simms? Tell me now or I will find her and smother her in her sleep!"

"That room, over there," Abby said, nodding towards Lilly's door. Silhouette-man nodded at some one behind Abby's chair, and she was released. She twisted round and saw two more silhouette figures, and another by the open front door. All had guns.

"Go and get her. Bring her out here, right now," Silhouette-man growled.

Slowly, Abby rose out of her chair and padded over to the bedroom. She was aware of several guns pointed at her head.

"No tricks. Bring her out here," Silhouette man added.

Abby did as she was told. She gave Lilly the lightest of shakes, rousing her.

". . . Abby? Is Ziva here?" the little girl said in a small voice, peering blearily up at Abby.

"Uh, no, not yet. But she'll be back real soon . . . I hope," the young woman said nervously. Lilly was already starting to fall back to sleep, and Abby had already been in the room long enough that the men outside where getting impatient, so she picked the child up and carried her out into the main room.

Two of the men were waiting on either side of the door, and as she walked out they grabbed her and produced a syringe.

"Wait!" Abby yelped, halting the needle's journey to her neck, "At least let me dress her in something warmer first!" The syringe continued its ascent. "She's no use to you if she freezes to death!" she pleaded, "She's small and weak. She can't last in the cold!"

Silhouette-man nodded to Abby's captors, and they let her go. "You have one minute," he snapped.

Abby hurriedly put Lilly in the first clothes that came to hand, which just so happened to be the same ones she'd been wearing earlier than day. She tugged the t-shirt and dungarees on over Lilly's footie PJs to save time and to give her extra warmth. Abby was terrified, and not doing a very good job of hiding it. Lilly, who'd begun to wake up properly, looked confused and uneasy. Abby fastened the child's sneakers and turned to Silhouette-man.

"Can I please get her jacket? It's in the kitchen." He gave a short nod. Pretending to bumble about in a frantic hurry, Abby stuck out her elbow and pretended to accidentally hit a jar on the counter, and sent it flying.

"Shoot," she muttered, automatically stooping to clean up the broken glass. She subtly pressed her boot down hard on something that had escaped the broken jar, managing to make it stick in the deep treads. Silhouette-man had barked an order the moment she'd reached for the glass, and two of the men tore her away from it and searched her in case she'd tried to take some glass to use as a weapon. She apologised desperately, babbling about being nervous and not thinking straight.

"From now on you do nothing unless you are told!" he snapped. Lilly whimpered in fear. Silhouette-man pointed at Abby. "If she makes any noise I will kill her without hesitation. You had better keep her quiet!"

"She just needs Mr. Toad and she'll be fine. It's her toy frog, she takes it everywhere. She'll be quiet as a mouse if you let her take it."

He growled impatiently. "Where. Is. It?" he spat.

"I-in the bedroom," Abby stammered. "I-I left it in the bedroom." The Silhouette-man nodded sharply, and Abby scuttled back into the bedroom. As she bent to retrieve the toy she surreptitiously dislodged the object from the sole of her shoe. It was a lump of greyish metal, soft as plasticine and covered in a layer of clear oil. She tore a thick strip of cloth from the bed sheets and wrapped the metal inside, first pressing the malleable substance into a fairly thin disc. She wedged the bundle into her tight boot, feeling the oil soak the cloth until it was slimy and moist against her leg. Her heart was thudding ten to the dozen as she straightened up, the frog in her hand. She returned to the main room, praying they didn't suspect, that they wouldn't think she could smuggle anything in such tight fitting boots. That they wouldn't think to search someone like her, who never carried weapons. And praying that the oil surrounding the metal would be enough to protect her. She was so preoccupied that she didn't realised they were waiting outside the door again until she felt the cold sting of metal as it jabbed into her neck.

She saw Lilly on the floor, and for one hazy, panicked moment she thought she was dead. But then she saw she was breathing.

"Wha . . . what did you do?" Abby slurred, her knees buckling and sending her sprawling to the floor. Silhouette-man stepped closer, and was caught in the light that filtered in through the window. His face was cast into sharp relief, and Abby felt a flash of cold recognition.

"You . . . !" she gasped. His smile was the last thing she saw before darkness filled her vision and she passed out.

* * *

Gibbs got the call first. She hadn't sounded panic-stricken or hysterical. She'd been chillingly calm. Quiet. Stony. She sounded distant, like she was under hypnosis or dreaming, and Gibbs took this to mean she was in her own special form of shock, and had switched to auto-pilot. Contrary to most people, the more afraid Ziva was, the calmer she became.

Gibbs had been, unsurprisingly, in his basement when Ziva phoned and told him that someone had been in her home, and that Abby and Lilly were gone. He was on the phone to DiNozzo before he'd even reached the top of the stairs, and by the time he'd started his car he'd hung up and called Vance. DiNozzo was to alert McGee and go directly to Ziva's.

The marine-turned-NCIS agent approached the building with his gun drawn, raising it when he saw Ziva waiting in the open front door. There was an enormous, aging man in a pyjamas and a bathrobe standing behind Ziva. Ziva shook her head and motioned for Gibbs to lower the gun. The man in the pyjamas introduced himself as Ziva's landlord, giving Ziva's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he spoke. A woman, also elderly and also dressed for bed, was hovering anxiously in a doorway just down the hall. It was the landlord's wife.

"Ziva came down to make sure we were alright and to warn us that the authorities would soon be here to investigate. I had to stay with her after I heard what happened," the old man rumbled, looking deeply concerned, "I can't believe all this happened and we didn't hear a thing."

"Okay. I'll take it from here." The two men exchanged a look, a silent understanding. Gibbs gently took Ziva's elbow, and the baton was passed. It was his job to look after her now. Henry the landlord gave Ziva's shoulder on final squeeze and walked off to look after his trembling wife. Once they were out of earshot Gibbs turned back to Ziva. He didn't speak, his expression a blatant cue for her to start talking. She relayed her story as they climbed the stairs to her apartment. Gibbs went in and looked around, his steady gaze missing nothing. There was Abby's laptop, discarded on the floor. That ruled out a burglary, which had been unlikely from the start. It was difficult to tell because the place was already a mess of half unpacked boxes and oddly placed furniture, but there didn't appear to be much sign of a struggle. Before he could start a proper walk through of all the rooms, voices drifted in through the open door, coming from the entryway downstairs. Vance had alerted the local police as a matter of protocol, and they had unfortunately arrived at the precise moment that DiNozzo and McGee had. The members of the two agencies were already arguing over jurisdiction. From what Gibbs could hear from the top of the stairs, the local cops thought it was theirs because so far nobody from the Navy was involved, and Ziva's involvement only made it a conflict of interests for NCIS. Tony was responding with threats and sheer dismissal. Gibbs glanced at Ziva and saw that she wasn't listening. She had sat down wearily on a box with her head in her hands. He left her there for the moment, heading back downstairs to resolve the argument. Less than two minutes later he returned with Tony and McGee in tow. They each shot Ziva concerned looks while Gibbs briefed them on what had happened. There wasn't much to tell. Tony, uncomfortable in serious situations, got straight to work while McGee cautiously approached Ziva.

"Are you okay?"

"I am fine." She sounded dull, uninterested. McGee knew that this meant that she wasn't coping well with being helpless.

"Gibbs said you climbed up the side of the house." She nodded mutely. "Are you alright? Can I see you hands?" She said nothing, but her hands dropped away from her head and he took this as a yes. He gently took each of her hands in his own, examining them as Gibbs had asked him to. Her fingertips – those that weren't already bandaged up – were scraped and bloody from clinging to the rough brick, and her nails were ragged. McGee fished out the first aid kit from his crime-scene kit and patched her up, watching her reactions carefully and not liking what he saw. She had shut herself off from what was happening. She didn't register the stinging disinfectant, didn't take her eyes off the floor even when he spoke to her. She didn't seem to notice him walk away. As the agent went to help his colleagues process the 'scene', he couldn't help but wonder if that was how she'd survived in Somalia. How she'd maintained her silence and never given anything away to her interrogators. The emptiness in her expression made him shudder.

"Hey, McGoo!" Tony called from the kitchen. His loud voice clashed with the sombre atmosphere. "Come look at this."

Gibbs and Tony were in the kitchen, standing over a mess of shattered glass. The shards and the floor around them glistened thickly with a coating of a clear substance.

"Any idea what this stuff it?" Tony asked.

McGee squatted and peered down at the pieces of glass. The remains of a label still stuck to some of them.

"Why would there be laboratory grade sodium here?" he said, reading the name of the label.

"Abby brought it," Ziva said. Tony and McGee jumped. She'd appeared silently behind them and must have been listening, "She was going to demonstrate some experiments to Lilly."

"Isn't sodium solid?" Tony said, frowning thoughtfully as he thought back to high school chemistry lessons that he'd barely paid attention to.

"Yes. It's a grey metal, very soft. But she must have used it all up. This is just the oil used to stop it oxidising," McGee said, motioned to the slick stuff on the floor, "The container must have been broken in the struggle."

"Lilly's clothes are gone," Ziva said suddenly. The other three gave her a questioning look. "The clothes she was wearing today are missing. The bed has been slept in so whoever took her must have taken them for later. Her pyjamas are gone too so she must have still been wearing them when they took her, but it means we know what she is probably going to be wearing when we start searching for her. That will help, yes?"

"Yeah," Tony said softly. Assuring. "That helps."

* * *

The first thing that Abby registered as she came to was that the floor was moving. As her head cleared she realised she was in the back of a large truck, and it was on the move. The only light came from a travel lamp, which stood at the feet of a man with a gun. He was leaning against the door at the far side of the truck, watching her disinterestedly. A guard, most likely. Abby looked around for Lilly and spotted her sitting against the side of the truck, sucking her thumb. She was clinging to Mr. Toad. Abby would have expected her to look more scared, but it was with sickeningly cold understanding that the scientist realised that Lilly wasn't panicking because this sort of thing probably seemed normal to her. She had become used to situations like this; in truth they were all she knew. Instead of crying or clinging she was doing what she did best – making herself as small and unnoticeable as she could. Abby struggled to raise herself off the floor and give the little girl comfort anyway. She crawled over and touched her arm.

"It's going to be okay," she said pathetically. Lilly's look was resigned. She knew better than to fall for empty reassurances. "Where are you taking us?" Abby addressed the guard. He shifted silently from one foot to the other, glaring at her. She took the hint, and shut up. She took in the rest of her surroundings. There was little else there, just some empty crates. Something else on the floor at the guard's feet caught her eye.

"What's the camera equipment for?" she asked. The guard considered, then decided it was a harmless enough question.

"For sending a message to your friends at NCIS," he sneered in a heavily accented voice.

Abby's brain whirled. As the feeling slowly returned to her stiff muscles she began to fidget and twitch. Her foot tapped and her fingers twitched and flicked and twisted together none-stop. After a few minutes the guard grew irritated. He stomped over and gave her a rough kick.

"Be still!"

"I can't help it!" Abby protested, her side throbbing, "I really can't! When I get really nervous or agitated I twitch. It's an involuntary thing, I can't stop it." Her heart pounded and her breath caught while she waited to see if he believed her lie. Her eyelid twitched. He snarled at her, kicked her again, but seemed to have believed her. He returned to his station over by the big door and she breathed again. The twitching continued.

* * *

Hours passed. The group migrated back to NCIS, back to the bullpen. In Abby's absence they'd had to bring in a forensics team from the local PD, but the NCIS lot, particularly Gibbs, was fiercely mistrustful of them. They needed the best forensic scientists in DC on the case, but the best forensic scientist in DC just so happened to be one of the missing. Without Abby the group's faith in scientific help was thoroughly shaken. Gibbs was so angry and impatient with them that they were rightly terrified of him, and dreaded his presence in their lab. Tony and McGee had worked restlessly since they'd first got back from Ziva's, but there had been nothing to go on. Whoever had taken Abby and Lilly had left no useful evidence behind. In fact they'd left almost no evidence at all. All that had been found so far was evidence that the locks on the front door and the door to Ziva's apartment had been picked to allow the kidnappers entrance. There were no fingerprints on the doors that shouldn't have been there anyway, and it seemed that the kidnappers hadn't touched anything inside the apartment. They hadn't left anything behind either. CSU hadn't found any hairs or fibres or anything. No guns had been fired. Neighbours from Ziva's building and surrounding buildings had been roused and questioned, but no one had seen or heard anything. They couldn't find anything helpful outside either, no trace of a getaway vehicle. But since there had been no reason for them to hurry, no one chasing them, it was unsurprising that the vehicle hadn't left a trace. The broken jar in the kitchen had nothing to offer, the only fingerprints on it belonging to Abby, whose prints were on record at NCIS anyway. The phone in Ziva's apartment had been patched through to NCIS, on the off-chance that there was a ransom call, but that was a futile hope in itself. They had nothing.

So, after the initial surge of activity had died away, the team were left with nothing to do but wait.

Each sat at their own desk. Tony and McGee tapped at their computers or did paperwork, pretending to be working just to have something to do. Gibbs drank a continuous succession of cups of coffee and glared at his own computer. Occasionally he went to meet with Vance in MTAC or the director's office. He was getting more and more furious with each hour that passed with nothing new to go on. The fact that a child was missing had him in full swing anyway, but that it was Abby that was missing with her brought out a new level of . . . Gibbs-ishness. The others were avoiding talking to him without due cause, for fear of releasing his wrath. Even Tony, who was never sincerely afraid of his boss' temper and Ducky, to whom Gibbs was never usually bad tempered with, were both giving him a wide berth.

Ziva did nothing. She knew there was nothing to be done, and unlike the others had not attempted to pretend otherwise. She was quietly saving her energy for a time when she could really do something. She sat numbly, staring at a spot on her desk, apparently unaware of what went on around her. In truth she was hyper-aware. The others all thought she was in shock. She hadn't reacted when Ducky, who'd come into work in the middle of the night even though there was nothing he could do, had placed a blanket around her shoulders. She was totally focused on the one thing that mattered – finding Lilly and Abby. She'd run through every possibility of who was responsible. Everyone who had a grudge against her and the skill to pull off a traceless kidnapping. The list was too long to comprehend. She had made enemies of countless, extremely dangerous people when she was still working actively for Mossad. This could easily be her old life as an assassin coming back to haunt her. Or it could be someone she'd made an enemy of during her time in NCIS. It could easily be someone who was trying to get to NCIS through her. Or someone who was after Abby, and had taken Lilly as an innocent bystander. Worst of all was the possibility that this could be the underhanded work of her father, Eli David. There was no telling what lengths he'd go to if he decided he wanted Ziva back badly enough.

By seven o'clock other people had started to drift into the office. The ragged group drew curious looks, dressed scruffily as they were in jeans and t-shirts, with sleepless blood-shot eyes and, in the men's cases, unshaven faces. Ziva still hadn't moved much, deep in thought, and still wore the blanket around her shoulders. Looks directed at her grew sympathetic as the story of what had happened slowly made its way around the building. Tony met each stare with a hostile glare, as if daring them to butt their noses in or gossip. His glare grew even sourer when people stared at Ziva.

An hour later something finally happened. A courier delivered a padded brown envelope to Ziva at her desk. Alarm bells immediately started ringing in everyone's heads. Ziva didn't get mail directly at NCIS anymore, not since she wasn't officially employed there. The courier was detained, and McGee went straight to work tracking down who had sent the package before it had even been opened. It was opened carefully so as to preserve any evidence that might be in the seal, but somehow they knew there wouldn't be. Inside was a DVD. No note, just the blank disc. Protocol was ignored, and the disc inserted straight into Tony's computer and the contents displayed on the plasma. It was a video, shot on a digital camera in what looked like the back of a van or truck. What they saw chilled them to the bone.

Abby sat in a chair in the middle of the screen, looking very nervous. Gibbs stiffened at the sight of her, but she looked fine. Her hands twisted spasmodically in her lap. Her eyelid flickered, her head twitched. Her eyes flitted between the camera and something behind it. Cued by something only she could see, she started talking.

"Um, Lilly and I have been kidnapped, though I guess you guys already got that message by now—"

Someone off camera shouted at her, but it wasn't clear what was said. She'd obviously deviated from a script. Her nervous twitching increased.

"I can't tell you who they are, but you'll know soon enough. They want you to know that they mean business. You should know that they will hurt us if you try to find us, and they will kill us slowly and painfully if you do not do want they want. This video is just to prove that we're still alive, and to say that they'll be in touch. Don't do anything stupid."

The video clicked off. There had been no sign of Lilly.

"That's it?" McGee protested. He'd stopped what he was doing to watch.

"What was with all the . . ." Tony did an exaggerated imitation of Abby's twitching.

"Where was her message?" Ziva asked.

"What? What message?" Tony did a double take.

"When she deviated from the script she winked when she said 'message' and 'now'."

"That was winking? I thought she was just twitching."

"That is what it was meant to look like to the people behind the camera," Ziva explained, her excitement growing.

"Play it again," Gibbs ordered.

Again they saw Abby's pale face, heard her stammer a little. They watched carefully, and saw her right eye twitch as she said the words 'message' and 'now'. But Gibbs wasn't paying attention to a word she said, wasn't looking at her face. He was staring at her nervously twitching fingers. "Come on, Abs," he muttered, squinting. Tony frowned in confusion. What was Gibbs expecting her to do? He looked closer. She was shifting hyperactively in her seat, practically buzzing with nerves. Her hands twisted and twitched in her lap . . . Tony mentally smacked himself for not realising straight away.

"Of course . . . !" he muttered.

"What?" Ziva exclaimed. She hadn't got it yet.

"The message is in the fake twitch, just like the winks," he explained, "She's doing what she always does when she wants to speak to Gibbs in private. She _signing_!"

Sure enough, the moment the person in the background yelled at her for straying from the script her twitching changed, but not due to increased jumpiness as it first appeared. In actual fact her fake twitches had turned to subtle sign language, intended for one person in particular. She was finger spelling, just like she had when she'd been kidnapped in L.A. Tony looked urgently at Gibbs, desperate to know what she was saying. Gibbs was frowning in concentration at the fuzzy picture, mouthing the letters as Abby signed them.

". . . sounds . . . woods . . . clearing . . .truck . . ." he translated. Gibbs' face twitched. Tony gulped, knowing that this was the Gibbs equivalent to a normal person going deathly pale with horror.

"What? What did she say?" he asked urgently. Gibbs slowly repeated each letter out loud in time to Abby's frantic fingers.

". . . S . . . A . . . L . . . E . . . E . . . M . . ."

* * *

**Still waiting for someone to figure out the what secret thing in this fic is. Remember, if you see it tell me in a private message and I'll post your name in the last chapter.**

**Don't forget to review if you want to see more. Reviews fuel the writer in me.**

**Thanks for reading.  
**


	6. The Wild Wood

**Wow. I can't believe I finally finished this chapter. Seriously, this was the chapter that just_ would not end._ Hopefully you'll enjoy reading it a lot more than I enjoyed writing it. And by the way, this is quite possibly the longest chapter I've written yet, so if I don't get lots and lots of reviews (hint hint) it may be a _very_ long time before I post again, especially since I have absolutely no idea how to write the next bit of the story.**

**Anywho, enjoy.**

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_**Recap:**_

_After her return from Somalia, Ziva tries to start putting her life back together. She decides she cannot say goodbye to Lilly, the three year old girl that she befriended while she was a prisoner. However, just as she makes the decision to adopt her, she and Abby are kidnapped in the middle of the night. Later, a video is sent to NCIS, in which Abby relays a very disturbing secret message, using sign language.  
_

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* * *

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**_Last time:_**

_". . . sounds . . . woods . . . clearing . . .truck . . ." he translated. Gibbs' face twitched. Tony gulped, knowing that this was the Gibbs equivalent to a normal person going deathly pale with horror._

_"What? What did she say?" he asked urgently. Gibbs slowly repeated each letter out loud in time to Abby's frantic fingers._

_". . . S . . . A . . . L . . . E . . . E . . . M . . ."_

_

* * *

_

"That is impossible!" Ziva all but shouted, "Saleem is dead!" She turned to Gibbs, "_You _shot him. We _all_ saw it!"

"His body was never recovered," Tony murmured. He had a look on his face like someone had just Gibbs-smacked him with a skillet. "After the fighting broke out that part of the camp was hit by a whole lot of grenades. They think some gas cylinders were hit. It was blown to pieces. You weren't conscious, but we all saw it as we drove away."

Ziva went pale and had to sit down. She was feeling powerfully sick and her pulse was rushing deafeningly in her ears. Saleem was alive? It couldn't be true. Abby's message must have meant something else.

But even as her brain scrabbled for a reasonable explanation, deep down she knew it was futile. Deep down, she was screaming.

"McGee," said Gibbs, quietly.

"Already on it, boss," the young agent said, typing furiously at his computer. He was running a dozen traces all at once, searching for evidence of the terrorist being in the states. His trace on the courier had hit a dead end when he found out that the package had been delivered to the courier's office by a young white boy using the name John Smith. According the clerk at the office, the boy couldn't have been more than ten or eleven. No doubt Saleem, or one of his men, had paid the boy to deliver the package to the courier company as an elaborate way of staying undetected. It had worked, since there was no way to find the boy and thus no way to question him about who had given him the package containing the DVD.

While McGee was running traces, Tony was phoning every airline and airport in the state, trying to find out how Saleem had gotten into the country.

Ziva sank into the nearest chair. She felt Gibbs touch her shoulder briefly, but the gesture didn't comfort her, so much as worry her more. Gibbs didn't _do_ comforting gestures, not unless they were meant for Abby. When something was wrong Gibbs got angry and did everything no one else would do until it was put right.

When Gibbs comforted, it could only mean things were seriously, seriously wrong. Ziva quivered.

While Tony and McGee worked frantically, Gibbs re-watched the footage over and over. Abby's scared voice, and the sound of those men shouting at her was deeply disturbing, but if anyone else was bothered by it they dared not say. Ziva watched too, from her chair a few feet away, until she knew the words by heart. There were so few clues. The lighting was poor and the picture grainy. Abby's face was only dimly lit, and sharp shadows confused the layout of the room. The light source had to have been on the floor somewhere between the camera and Abby, because hers was the only human shadows cast onto the wall behind her. If there was a cameraman, he was being frustratingly quiet. There was no sign of Lilly. Ziva couldn't even hear her in the background. She was almost definitely not in the same room, but had to be somewhere close by. Ziva didn't quite know why she thought that, or even if she wanted it to be true. But, she reasoned, it was surely better if Lilly was with Abby than if she was kept alone. Ziva could not admit to herself that she hoped the reason Abby was alone was because Lilly had escaped. The thought was too confusing, too hopeful and guilty at the same time.

The room Abby was in was tiny, parts of the floor, ceiling and both walls all visible at the back of the shot. It was like a box. From what she could tell from the bad lighting the walls were smooth and of a dirty white or grey colour. It could have been shot in a storage facility or garage, or a locker, bunker, hut or truck, or even a closet. There was nothing else in the picture that would give them any more clue as to their location. Ziva considered Gibbs' translation of the sign language. Abby had mentioned a truck, which could mean that she was in a truck, but could just as easily mean that the terrorists had one and were using it to transport their prisoners. It would make sense. A truck would never be suspected purely based on the fact that no one would ever expect fugitives to choose so ostentatious a vehicle. It blended in _because _it stood out.

She'd also said 'sounds' and 'woods'. If this meant they were hiding out in the woods somewhere it still didn't help much. There were endless miles of woods in the area, giving them an impossibly large search area, and that was assuming that they were still somewhere close to the city. For all they knew they could be on the move again. They could end up states away, or even out of the country altogether. The terrorist group had smuggled Lilly out once before, there was nothing stopping them from trying it again.

So all they knew was that she was, or had at one time been in a truck of some description and had at some point been within earshot of what sounded like an area of woodland. Ziva could have cried at the hopelessness of it all, had she not been too angry at herself. She was supposed to be looking after that child, protecting her. Instead, she'd broken her promise and let those men get near her again, and to make matters infinitely worse she'd gotten Abby involved.

The memory of Saleem hung over her, like a softly swinging noose.

More time passed. Gibbs came and went at regular intervals, though Ziva barely noticed. Once or twice his frustrated bellowing could be heard all the way from MTAC or Vance's office.

Tony and McGee continued searching. They would have searched satellite images for heat signatures in the woods, but they had no idea where to look. They could search for months and find nothing. And as of yet, that's all their work had turned up. Nothing. Saleem could've tunnelled into the country for all they knew. Ziva, who was wound up tight enough to snap, was not permitted to help. The search required human contact, and even on the phone she was in too dangerous a mood.

* * *

When at last the juddering motion of the truck ceased, Abby had sunk into a kind of traumatised stupor. Too paranoid to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake, she huddled in the corner opposite the door and fixed her bleary gaze on the guard. Lilly hadn't moved an inch since they'd brought her back, after they'd finished shooting the video. She was sitting cross-legged next to Abby, looking resigned, almost calm. Her fingers tugged mechanically at her toy, which she held tightly in her lap. At one point, quite without warning, she looked up and addressed the guard.

"Rajih?"

With a pang, Abby realised that Lilly knew this man. She remembered him from Somalia. He grunted in reply.

"Are we going back to Africa?"

Rajih shrugged. "Wait, and you will find out."

There was a loud bang of warning on the door of the truck before it burst open and flashlight beams blinded the prisoners. Abby was hit with bitter cold and the scent of wet earth and pine before the doors were slammed shut again, and that ominous silhouette drew close once more.

* * *

Nothing happened for a long time. Ziva drifted between buzzing with anxious energy and deadly still and silent. Eventually Gibbs ordered Tony to take her back to his place to get some sleep, since Ziva's own apartment was a crime scene. The younger agent looked alarmed at the notion of trying to force Ziva to leave NCIS in the state she was in, but astonishingly she didn't kick up a fuss. Tony couldn't decide if it was because she honestly accepted that she needed to sleep, or if she'd just run out of energy to argue with. Whatever the reason, she followed him completely silently into the elevator, never once making eye contact. Her expression was blank, her eyes carefully empty. The sun was still a little while from coming up, and it was freezing out, but while Tony puffed and shivered in surprise, Ziva didn't seem to notice. She didn't react at all, didn't even pause when Tony tugged her coat out of her hand and draped it over her shoulders. She couldn't be persuaded to put stop and put it on properly. She seemed to have tuned his voice out completely. Her stride was long and purposeful towards his car, and as he trotted along beside her he could see her gaze perform long, wide sweeps of their surroundings, her eyes piecing beneath a fixed brow. He decided then that this was definitely the scariest he'd ever seen her. The drive home was just as strange, undertaken in total silence. When they got to Tony's place he led her to his sitting room, which was domineered by a huge flat screen and a large couch. An extravagant lazyman leather recliner stood in prime position for watching the TV, with a remote balanced on the arm and a stack of DVD cases on the floor next to it.

He offered her something to eat, and took her stony silence as a no, so instead set about hunting out blankets and pillows so she could sleep on the couch. She didn't say a word of thanks, and when he left the room she was staring blankly at her cell phone.

Tony's heart sank when he realised he was awake again. He'd been tossing and turning for a good couple of hours, drifting in and out of a restless sleep until it was difficult to tell what was waking and what was dreaming. At last he admitted defeat, and rolled reluctantly out of the warmth of the bed, with the intent of raiding the fridge. All thoughts of food were erased from his head, however, when he passed the sitting room. It was dark, the light having flicked off a little while after he'd retired to his bedroom. He'd assumed this meant Ziva had gone to sleep. He was wrong.

He could barely make her out, her figure little more than a shadow in the first glimmer of morning light, but it was clear she wasn't sleeping. Even assassins didn't sleep sitting up so stiffly.

She was planted on the edge of the couch, her shoulders hunched and her forearms braced on her thighs. In the dark her eyes were fixed on her phone, which lay lifelessly on the coffee table a foot in front of her. Her hands dangled loosely, almost relaxed, between her knees. Holding a gun.

He didn't know where she'd got it, or want to know. All he wanted was to get it out of her reach. Preferably without getting shot in the process.

"Ziva?" he whispered, not daring to venture any further into the room.

There was a long pause.

"It is alright, Tony," she said flatly. She was so still that it almost seemed like her voice was projecting from thin air. "You can come closer. I knew it was you. I have been listening to you fidgeting for hours."

"Hey, Zee," he said, relaxing marginally and padding over to her, "What's going on, huh? Why aren't you sleeping? And what's up with . . . you know . . ."

"The weapon?" She finally turned her head to observe him. He nodded mutely. "I cannot get his voice out of my head, Tony. I keep hearing him, all the time, just like in Somalia. But all I can think about is Lilly." She twisted her body to face him, leaning closer and whispering intently, "Why would he take her? And Abby? Why not just kill me and have it over with? If it is revenge that he is after, then why did he not take his chance to get to me while I thought he was dead?"

"You can't think like that. Who knows what twisted ways these people think in. I'm still not convinced it's really Saleem, and I won't be until I see him with my own eyes. But whoever's behind this and whatever their motives, they won't get away with it. We'll get them back. We'll get Abby and Lilly back. Just like we got you. Okay?"

She mulled over his words, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. After a moment the breath she'd been holding was expelled in a long hiss, and she sagged against his shoulder.

"I am scared, Tony," she breathed.

"I know." He snaked his arm under hers and slid the gun out of her grasp, and leaned forward to place it onto the coffee table. When he leaned back again her head had dropped forward so that her hair obscured her face, but he was pretty sure that, if he could have seen her, he would have seen tears on her cheeks. "Hey. It's going to be alright. Just you wait."

Sensing she was nearing the end of her tether, and not in the mood for hugging, he pushed her back to lie down on the couch, stood and lifted her feet up to where he'd just been sitting. He slid off her shoes, one by one, and dropped them at the foot of the couch. He picked up the blankets he'd left for her, which had gone untouched, and draped them over her, and jammed a pillow under her head. She huffed at his fussing, but had no energy or desire to stop him.

"You need to get some sleep," he said, crouching to look her in the eye, "or at least try to. I'll be right over there," he pointed at the recliner. Her eyes went dull again and she gave a short nod and turned her gaze to the ceiling. Tony picked up the gun, which he now recognised as one of her off-duty weapons, and put it in his gun safe in his bedroom closet. Just to be on the safe side. He returned to the sitting room and found Ziva with her eyes closed, but he turned the recliner to face the couch so he could watch over her anyway. She couldn't be left alone with herself, in case she tried something drastic. In case Saleem somehow got to her, lured her away. In case she shut her team out.

But despite his intent to watch over her, before long his eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep. Across the room, Ziva's eyes snapped open.

* * *

Gibbs stormed out of Vance's office, fresh out of another yelling match with the director. God help any bumbling forensic scientist who ran into him with bad news now. That was probably the most frustrating part of this whole mess. Without Abby, they had no hope of tracing the kidnappers scientifically. Of all the people to go missing, Abby was the one they relied on the most for information. Gibbs crossed the balcony over to the stairs, spotting McGee in the bullpen below. To his credit, he'd stayed very calm and collected since this nightmare had begun. He'd been glued to his computer for hours now, working tirelessly. Holding the fort while Tony looked after Ziva for a little while.

Almost on cue, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal the agents in question, both looking more tense and less rested than when they'd left. Even Tony's face was dark and guarded, a far cry from his usual light-hearted demeanour. Gibbs watched as Ziva posed a question to McGee, and visibly sagged when he shook his head dejectedly. They had no new evidence. The two newly arrived agents took their places at their desks, jumping straight back into the search. It was useless. They weren't going to find anything.

Then the elevator dinged again.

No one could've known what was about to happen but, as if pulled by an invisible magnet, they all looked up at once. Saw the doors slide open. Saw the young man in the pale blue, monogrammed shirt and dark baseball cap step out. Saw the padded brown envelope under his arm, the clipboard in his hand. Saw him scan the room, and focus on Ziva.

And like a fire had been lit under their feet, they all sprang into movement at once. Gibbs took the stairs down to the bullpen at a run, rounding the corner to see Tony collar the delivery boy and start to question him. The envelope lay on Ziva's desk, untouched. McGee was already muttering down the phone, summoning the forensics team up from Abby's lab. His free hand rested on Ziva's shoulder, a light restraint against the urge that was written all over her face. She wanted whatever was in the envelope. NOW.

A skinny, anaemic guy in a white coat hurried into the bullpen barely a minute later, and Gibbs glared solidly at him while slit open the envelope and bagged and tagged it as evidence, leaving them with only the disk. He trembled under Gibbs' gaze, and couldn't get out of there fast enough. And then, finally, they could play the DVD they'd all known would be inside.

It was Abby again, in the same space as the previous video. The cliché of the newspaper in her hands was a double blow, as it meant she couldn't send a message by signing as she had before. The paper was from the previous day, probably bought before the kidnapping even took place. The crude camera work zoomed in on the paper first, then back out to show Abby's face. Then, cued by someone off-screen, she started to talk.

"If you want to see Lilly and I alive ever again, you will send Ziva David, _alone_, to her residence where we were taken from, at five p.m. on the day that you receive this video. If she is followed by anyone from NCIS or otherwise, they—" Abby's voice hitched, and she swallowed visibly, "They will kill one of us. Don't be late."

The picture cut out.

No one spoke for several moments, then without moving, Gibbs' muttered, "McGee."

"On it," McGee said quietly, heading for his computer.

"What's the plan, boss?" Tony asked gravely.

Gibbs regarded Ziva, eyes narrowed. "We give them exactly what they want."

* * *

Ziva pulled over outside her apartment, squinting up at the darkened windows. She didn't expect for a minute that there would actually be anyone inside, but she was wary nonetheless. The silence as she climbed the stairs was oppressive, like a thick fog. The front door was closed, the crime-scene tape still in place. They must have gotten in through a window, or the wall to an adjoining apartment. She tore through the tape with her key and pushed the door open – the lock had been removed by the forensics team – and saw immediately that it was empty. In fact, it didn't look like anyone had been inside since the previous night. She was about to take a step inside when something caught her eye. A piece of paper lay at her feet, seemingly slipped under the door to await her arrival. Her ears pricked in case of ambush, Ziva crouched over the note and scanned it in the light from the window. It read simply:

_Blue car parked on corner of street. Key under front passenger side wheel. Five minutes._

Ziva glanced at her watch. Two minutes past five. That left her three minutes to get outside and find the car. Leaving the note where it was, she pulled the door to and slipped down the stairs and out into the pre-evening chill. Her stride was confident but in-check as she hurried to the end of the street, scanning left and right until her gaze alighted on a dented blue car parked inconspicuously near a street light. She checked her watch. A minute and a half to go. Her fingers groped under the wheel well until they found a misshapen bump that was the key, held in place by duct tape. Pretending to tie her shoelace she scanned the underside of the car, but was unsurprised that there was nothing out of place. If they had rigged the car to explode, the bomb would no doubt be hidden better than that. She moved around to the driver's side of the empty vehicle and got in. There wasn't a note this time, so she waited. At five minutes past five, a phone rang. She didn't flinch. She followed the sound and fished a cheap disposable cell phone out from under her seat, and answered.

"David."

A vaguely familiar Middle Eastern accent answered, but it wasn't Saleem. "Start the vehicle, Miss David."

"Before this goes any further, I must have proof of life," she said, unwaveringly, "put them on the phone."

There was a pause, and Ziva's heart sank, then, "Ziva?"

"Abby!" Ziva gasped, just then realising that she'd been holding her breath, "Are you alright? Where is Lilly?"

Abby's reply was muffled and distant, and then a grave little voice spoke, "Ziva?"

"Lilly, metuka, are you alright?"

Once again the reply was distant, and the first voice drowned it out. The man repeated his instruction, and this time she obeyed.

"Drive north and turn left on my signal."

The voice went silent. Ziva drove wordlessly, the phone set to speaker and lying ominously on the passenger seat. Apart from the occasional instruction, the other end of the line was totally silent. Either the car had a tracker on it somewhere or the route was very carefully planned, for the directions where precise and well timed. Her journey was long and winding, the directions sometimes taking her in circles or making her double back on herself before finally bringing her to a carnival on the outskirts of the city. She was instructed to leave the car in the western parking lot and take the cell phone, and head for the big wheel in the centre of the brightly lit funfair.

"Okay, I am at the Ferris wheel," she said, holding the phone to one ear and her finger to the other to block out the roar of cheerful music and gleeful screams. She stood in the middle of a huge crowd, people with popcorn and cotton candy jostling her from all directions.

"In a moment you will see our signal. When you do you will get rid of the NCIS agents that have been following you, dispose of this cellular phone and head to the east parking lot. You will dispose of any tracking devices on your person. You will find a blue car of the same model as your previous one, with the key in the same location as the previous one, and you will drive to this address," He switched briefly to Arabic. "This is your final warning, Miss David. If you are followed past this point, one of our hostages _will_ be killed. If you want to see them alive again then you are no longer working for NCIS. Is this understood?"

She paused. Several feet away, wearing an earpiece and listening to every word of the conversation, Gibbs locked eyes with her. He slowly shook his head. She shot him an apologetic look, and spoke slowly into the phone. "Understood."

An explosion lit up the sky. There was a brief, stunned silence, and then chaos broke loose. People started screaming, in terror this time, and running in all directions. Gibbs started towards Ziva, shouting into a hidden mike, but in the melee she slipped away effortlessly. He swore, and tore through the crowd towards the eastern parking lot.

Ziva watched from behind a game stall, concealed from view.

"A wise decision, Miss David." The owner of the voice on the phone stood behind her, holding a gun to her side. She glared at him over her shoulder. "A good thing your Arabic is not out of practice, yes?"

She gave a curt nod. The terrorists had known NCIS had been listening the whole time. That was why, instead of giving an address in Arabic, she'd been given a completely different set of instructions. There was no second car. The original car _had_ been rigged to blow up after all, and the explosion was the signal he'd spoken of. The first set of instructions, to find the second car and drive to an address, had simply been misdirection. And now she watched her back-up disappear into the crowd, with her hands in the air, while one of the two men who'd been waiting for her searched her. They found the gun at her hip, and the one at her ankle, and the third in the small of her back. Then they removed the knives from her belt, shoes, wrists and leg. They found the small tracking device in her pocket, and the back up in her shoe. They dumped the trackers and stowed the weapons, and directed her back to the west parking lot with a new destination in mind. This time as she drove away, in a new stolen car, there was no one tailing her. As she hit the freeway she glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Her expression was smooth and calm, giving away none of her hidden nerves. She reached up to smooth her hair, her fingers reaching back on impulse to check the knot at the nape of her neck was still securely in place. Satisfied, she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel and hit the gas.

* * *

Back at the carnival grounds, Gibbs watched Ziva leave, followed by the two men who's been with her. One of them he recognised from Somalia, the other he wasn't sure about. They in turn watched Ziva leave, then slipped away themselves. He let them go. The time to capture them would come soon enough, but for now they needed to be free to contact their leader and inform him that all was going to plan. Gibbs waited until they were definitely gone, then raised the mike on his sleeve to his mouth.

"McGee?"

"It worked, boss," the younger agent replied, his voice tinny through the earpiece Gibbs wore, "Two of the trackers are still somewhere near you, but the other one's still on the move. They didn't find the one in her hair."

"Where's she going?"

"South. Outside of the city maybe?"

"Maybe. Tony?"

Tony's voice joined the conversation, the hum of a motor just audible behind his words, "On it, boss."

"Keep your distance. Stay well out of sight of Ziva's car. They can't know you're following her."

"Got it."

Gibbs had been following Ziva alone up until now, but two more agents hadn't been far behind. One liaising with local LEOs near the exploded car; the other had gotten lost in amongst the throng of panicking carnival-goers. Gibbs saw no point in looking for him, and left the scene with barely a nod to the remaining agent. He had bigger fish to fry.

He'd rather have followed Ziva himself, but the terrorists knew his vehicle now and Tony had a head start on him anyway. So, when he rammed his car into third, it was pointed firmly at NCIS.

* * *

Tony, meanwhile, was still talking to McGee through his earpiece. McNerd was following Ziva's tracking signal from his computer back at the Navy Yard, and directing Tony accordingly. They made sure to keep a good couple of miles between Tony's dirt bike and Ziva's car at all times, and where possible they used different roads altogether. There could be no opportunity left open for the kidnappers to figure out she was still being followed.

The NCIS team's double bluff trick appeared to have worked, for terrorists seemed to have decided that the threat of a tail had been terminated. The round-about routes and backtracking had stopped. Ziva was headed in a straight line, right out of the city. Not long after leaving the carnival grounds she turned off onto a lesser-frequented freeway that headed right out to the next city, with almost no forest cover in between at all. If Abby's info was right, and Saleem had set up shop in a stretch of woods somewhere, it was almost definitely not in that direction. They were ninety-nine percent sure of it. Well, maybe ninety-eight.

Tony was paused a few yards from that very intersection, the idling motor of his bike a throaty growl. The off road vehicle had been selected in place of a car with forests in mind, but they were now presented with a new possibility. They kidnappers weren't in the next city over, that was for sure. The discs with the ransom videos had been sent from a courier not too far from the Navy Yard. Too far to reach from the next city over, given the time frame. So if they had to be somewhere along that road. But the only thing on that road was an old, closed down factory. No forests, no cover at all. So they _had_ to be sending Ziva there.

They'd figured all this in the time it took for Ziva to hang a left onto the long road and Tony to slow to a stop not two minutes behind. This left them with two options. Follow her down the road, and be seen from a mile away and quite possibly ambushed, or loop around and approach the factory from the rear, going off-road, and risk getting left way behind if the terrorists weren't there after all. It took him all of five seconds to decide, and then he was whipping the bike around and screeching back the way he'd come. A half a mile back he turned a sharp right down the embankment and took the ditch at a jump. The impact as he landed rattled his teeth, and he very nearly lost control of the bike. Tony DiNozzo was many things, but a dirt bike stuntman he was not. Nevertheless, he had no time to stop and gather his frayed nerves, and he twisted the throttle and lunged out onto the dry dirt.

Pollution from the factory had killed most of the plant life in the immediate area, and what was left was a sparse wasteland ringed by a thin smattering of small trees. He was grateful of the fast growing darkness as he forged a path parallel to the road Ziva had taken. To his right, the distant factory crawled along the horizon. The building stood between himself and the giant parking lot, hiding his approach from anyone waiting at the entrance but also hiding Ziva from him. His route took him in a wide loop until he rode towards the back of the building, at a right angle to the road beyond. When he got close enough he killed the engine and hopped off the bike so his approach would be noiseless. Body curled into a low crouch, he sprinted across the void of dead space, feeling horribly exposed even in the near-darkness.

* * *

Ziva pulled into a curving driveway, a rusted sign pointing the way to the parking lot. As it came into view, her sharp eyes caught sight of a flicker of movement to the left. She kept going, knowing full well she was being surrounded. The gate was open, the chain still dangling from the bars below an ancient sign that proclaimed the factory as closed and warned off trespassers. As she rolled in slowly a masked figure with a semi-automatic appeared by her window and motioned for her to stop and get out. She obeyed, muscles tense in anticipation. She was led out to the centre of the lot, which was sparsely populated with abandoned eighteen wheelers and stacks of wooden pallets. The masked gunman backed away to just out of her reach, keeping her fixed in his sights as another masked figure approached from between two trucks. She was patted down roughly once again, and when he was sure she wore no hidden cameras he gave a shout and jabbed her with his hand gun. On cue, one of the colossal trucks, which had been parked inconspicuously amongst the other, abandoned vehicles, roared into life. Ziva took the hint, and led the way around the back of it to the huge cargo hold, with one of the gunmen at her back and the other to her left. She did exactly what they wanted, climbing into the back of the truck, biding her time. She couldn't make a move until she knew where Lilly and Abby were. Once in the truck, she was bound, gagged, and a bag was put over her head. She was pushed to the floor in a corner, and moments later she felt the truck move. She lay there quietly, trying to remember the turns and judge the speed of the truck. Maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to escape with Abby and Lilly and find her way back.

* * *

Sometime later, the truck slowed to a stop and its occupants jumped out. One of the armed men went first, checked the coast was clear, then turned back to catch Ziva as the other man tossed her carelessly out of the truck. The slam of the driver's door sounded as he too jumped out and followed the others out into the woods in which they had stopped. From beneath the truck, Tony watched four pairs of boots walk past and disappear into the darkness. He'd arrived in the car park at the factory just in time to see Ziva climb into the back of the eighteen-wheeler with two armed men. Knowing that he'd definitely be noticed if he tried to follow on his bike, he'd crept around the back of the row of abandoned trucks, waited until the doors of the terrorist's truck had slid closed, then approached it from the back so that the driver wouldn't see him. He'd quickly crawled underneath the truck and wedged himself as best he could between a couple of pipes and the underside of the cargo hold. And there he'd hung, barely a foot off the road, for the entire journey.

After they had moved away he remained there only long enough to pull a small tracking device, similar to the one concealed in Ziva's hair, out of his pocket and stick it to the underside of the truck. Then, with aching muscles and oil-smudged clothes, he dropped down and rolled out from under the truck and into some bushes. After pausing for a few seconds to see if he'd been spotted, he popped back up and set off in a silent pursuit of Ziva and her captors.

Following the small group was no easy feat. Although Ziva made a fair amount of noise as she stumble blindly in the direction they shoved her, the three men themselves made very little noise. Which meant that he too had to move very quietly or risk being detected. And they had flashlights. Tony was almost as blind as Ziva was without a light to see by, and in an effort to be as quiet as possible he was falling further and further behind. He moved in short spurts, bent almost double as he darted from tree to tree. They were too far ahead for him to see anything of them but the occasional flicker from their flashlights, and he had no way of knowing how closely they were watching their backs. It certainly seemed that they thought they were safe, but these were the sort of men that never left things to chance.

He followed them for a solid ten minutes, going surprisingly deep into the woods. Then they just seemed to vanish into thin air. Their lights disappeared, but he could still hear them. It took him a minute to figure out that there must be a dell somewhere up ahead, a sudden depression in the ground that they had descended into. At once he realised that he couldn't follow them into it without being seen, so he turned a hard left and slowly worked his way around the edge of the dell. Getting as close as he dared, he thought he saw lights coming up from below. From the sound of it they'd stopped, which meant that this must be the final meeting place. Tony found a tree with a view of the dell and climbed it, concealing himself among the leaves and shadows. He'd brought a set of retractable pocket binoculars for almost this exact reason, and now he fished them out of his jacket pocket looked through them at the scene below. The view was better than he'd hoped – the dell was situated in a large clearing – and he could see everything that was happening below, despite the considerable distance. The dell itself was deep and roughly circular, looking very much like a giant hand had simply scooped a giant chunk out of the earth, trees and all. Fallen leaves had collected in it so that the ground was covered in a thick layer of rust coloured debris. And right in the center of it all was Ziva.

She'd been forced to her knees and the hood pulled off her head, but her hands were still bound behind her back with plastic zip-ties. Another plastic zip-tie, which had been used to hold the hood in place, was still hanging loosely around her neck. Several battery powered lamps were situated around her, lighting the clearing enough for even Tony to see most of what was going on. The three men who'd brought her there were now standing around the edge of the dell, their guns aimed at Ziva. They seemed to be waiting for something. Or someone. Tony, his binoculars focused on Ziva, saw her tense up and look at something to her right. He followed her line of sight and caught movement in the shadows. Tensing also, he waited for the silhouetted figure to reveal itself. When it did, Tony almost fell right out of the tree.

Saleem was a mere shadow of what he once was. His head was swathed in bandages and he leaned heavily on a crutch that was jammed under his right arm, but miraculously he still walked. His was a curious gate; he shuffled along with each right footed step falling heavily while his left foot dragged along behind. He at last stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight, and Tony bit back a gasp. One side of his face was twisted into a snarl, while the other drooped grotesquely like melted wax. An angry, jagged red line, spattered with stitches, ran out from under the bandage around his forehead to curve around the outside of his eye, stopping at the cheekbone. There was a long pause, during which Ziva and Saleem regarded each other. Ziva hadn't even flinched, and when she spoke her emotionless voice carried so well in the clearing that Tony heard every single word as clearly as if he'd been two feet away.

"Saleem."

"Officer David. Surprised to see me?"

"Alive? More disappointed than surprised, I should think." His face twisted, but it was difficult to say whether it was a smile or a snarl.

"Where are Abigail Sciuto and Lillian Simms?" she demanded, and in the next second Saleem was swinging his crutch at her head. The force of the blow sent her flying, and though Saleem momentarily lost his balance, his look of satisfaction was unmistakeable.

"You do not give the orders here, woman!" he roared, limping closer so he could loom over her, "Because of you and your friends, my entire unit, everything I worked so hard to build was destroyed! There was so much we were going to do for the cause, but _you_, you destroyed it all! Do you have any idea how much time and money it's going to take to rebuild all that? To train new soldiers, to obtain new weapons? Not to mention the human sacrifice. Your American soldiers killed almost twenty-five of my men. Twenty-five! They have to be avenged."

Through his binoculars, Tony saw Ziva spit blood at Saleem's feet and glare up at him.

"And you? How did you survive? You were dead. The last time I saw you, you were lying in a pool of your own blood with a bullet hole in your head."

Apparently past his little outburst of rage, Saleem replied calmly.

"I did have a bullet hole in my head. I have your 'Special Agent Gibbs' to thank for that, and for my current condition. The bullet entered my skull at such at angle that it ricocheted, and went straight back out again. It did minimal damage to my brain, considering, but still it paralysed the left side of my body almost entirely, including the left side of my face, as you can see. Some of my most trusted men found me and were able to sneak me out of a secret exit. I was treated at a small hospital in Somalia and was awake again in a little over a day. When I heard that the Americans believed me to be dead, I knew I had a unique opportunity to both rebuild my unit and complete my mission, and get my revenge at the same time. So, while I was healing, I did a little research. You are no doubt aware that NCIS confiscates millions of US dollars worth of illegal drugs and stolen goods from law-breakers in its own military each year? It is all kept in warehouses and evidence vaults. On top of that, the higher authorities in your organisation deal every day in secrets that could bring down armies. Whole countries. For now, I am willing to settle for the money, and with it I will rebuild what you destroyed. Go on, say it," he goaded.

Ziva leaned up and spat in his face, "NCIS does not negotiate with terrorists!"

Quick as a whip he raised his arm and back-handed her across the face. She went down again, crashing into the leaves that coated the ground.

"NCIS agents may not be willing to negotiate, but you are not one of them, Ziva David! No matter how long you pretend to be one of them, you are still an outsider and you always will be. And I have the child, and your friend the scientist, and you _will_ get me what I want if you wish to see them alive again."

"Why bring me here if you are just going to let me leave again? Why not just send another video?" she said, struggling to sit up again.

"Because I am going to use you to send a much stronger message, Miss David. Unfortunately, I am incapable of doing the job myself due to my injuries, but luckily one of my men that escaped with me is an expert of methods of torture." He indicated off to the left, and Tony followed the movement with his binoculars until he located the man in question. "You remember Raashid, don't you Miss David? Of course you do. He has been looking forward to getting reacquainted with you ever since your American friends murdered his brother the day you escaped!"

Raashid stepped in front of Ziva so that Tony couldn't see what happened next, but from the sharp crack that echoed around the clearing, he'd obviously just broken one of Ziva's bones. Ziva barely grunted, but it was enough to show Tony that she was in agony. And that was just the beginning. The torture went on for minutes, which quickly turned into the best part of an hour, and there was nothing that Tony could do. He had a gun, but they had automatic weapons and they were too close to Ziva. Even if he managed to take them all down before they shot him or Ziva, from what Saleem had said there had to be at least two more men out there somewhere, most likely with Lilly and Abby. Tony knew without a doubt that if Saleem didn't return to their hiding place, if he didn't make contact with the other two men, Abby and Lilly would be killed and the remaining two men would flee. So he had no choice but to remain hidden. His earpiece had gone out of range a long time ago, but he'd communicated to McGee and Gibbs through text message and knew that they were having trouble tracking his exact position. They were so far out in the middle of nowhere that there was nothing to use as a reference point. And by the time they found them and arrived on scene, it would almost definitely be too late.

Yet another stifled moan drifted up from the dell, rising into a strangled scream as Raashid refused to let up on whatever method of torture he was now using. It had taken a long time for Ziva's iron clad control to slip, but eventually she was unable to contain the screams of pain. From the very first cry, Tony had known that he'd hear that sound in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Saleem barked a command, and at last Raashid stepped back. Saleem stood over Ziva, who lay prone on the ground with her eyes fixed murderously on him. At Saleem's nod, one of the other men stepped forward and dropped something by her head.

"In a moment, you are going to lose consciousness. I am leaving you with a cellular phone, so that when you wake up you can call your people to come and get you. Let your condition be a message to them. If I do not get what I want before the week is up, Raashid will do to the hostages what he has just done to you. And then he will kill them, both the scientist _and_ the child."

Ziva looked like she was trying to speak, but couldn't. Her head lolled on the ground with the effort to protest.

"I have no doubt we will be seeing each other again very soon, Miss David. Until then, Shalom."

He nodded to Raashid, who dragged Ziva up into a slumped sitting position. With his target perfectly placed, Saleem swung his crutch again, harder and faster than ever. The metal collided with Ziva's head with an audible crack and she was knocked bodily to the ground once more. And this time, she didn't move.

Tony knew they were about to leave, knew that he should do something, but he was rooted to the spot. Should he race back to the truck? Could he really leave Ziva, alone and unconscious, in the woods while he stowed away with terrorists? No, of course he couldn't. He needed to get down to Ziva and make sure she was okay, and besides, his arms still ached from the last truck ride from hell. There was no knowing how long he'd have to hang onto the underside of that truck this time. He needed to stay with Ziva and contact Gibbs. But it was okay, they wouldn't lose Saleem. Tony thought back to the tracker he'd hidden on the truck and was grateful he'd have the foresight to bug it in case he wouldn't be coming back. Now all they could do was pray that the tracker didn't fall off and that the terrorists didn't decided to ditch the truck. The movie he'd gotten the idea from played in his mind, and he once again cursed the lack of audience to explain the reference to. Clever tricks were a lot less fun when there was no one around to crow about them to. Tony shifted uncomfortably in the tree, a branch poking into his back, then froze and pulled a face as the branches around him rustled loudly. He squinted into the half light and let out a small sigh of relief. Saleem and his men had not heard the noise. They were still leaving. Tony returned his attention back to his partner. She still hadn't moved, and was laying face down in the thick blanket of leaves in the centre of the clearing. Her stillness was disturbing. Tony waited several more minutes, afraid to climb down in case the men were lying in wait, trying to trap him. Somewhere in the far distance he heard the faint roar of the truck as it started up and drove away. When it was fully out of earshot Tony finally felt it was safe to go to Ziva. He slithered clumsily down the tree, feeling the slimy lichen cling to his palms and stain his clothes, and he once again wished he was half as good as Ziva at climbing trees. With his feet firmly on the ground he drew his gun and cautiously headed into the clearing, darting from tree to tree, bush to bush, staking out every shadow in search of an ambush. The only sounds were the faintest rustle of the wind in the trees and the pounding of his own heart. There was no one else about, he was sure of it. Finally satisfied, he holstered his weapon and jogged down into the clearing, slipping and sliding on the wet slope of the little dell. Ziva lay in an eerie shaft of moonlight, its ethereal glow turning her skin an ashy pale colour and giving her a sickening dead look. Tony hurried to her side and dropped to his knees in the soggy leaves next to her, rolling her onto her back.

"Ziva?" he whispered, still a little paranoid over whether they were truly alone or not. He gave her shoulders the lightest of shakes; patted her cheek and lifted an eyelid. He got no response, save a slight moan. He sat back on his haunches, relieved that she still breathed but at a loss for what to do. He fished about in the leaves and recovered the phone Saleem had left behind. He eyed it suspiciously, holding it at arm's length between finger and thumb. Knowing Saleem it was probably rigged to explode. It was a cheap disposable one, and scrolling through the call records showed it had never been used, which meant Saleem had bought it with the specific intent of giving Ziva a way out of the woods. It had all been carefully planned. There was a folded piece of paper stuck to the back, and on further investigation he discovered that it was a set of instructions. Presumably it was there, at least in part, in case Ziva suffered any memory loss from the beating they'd given her. It referenced a number of specific cases wherein large sums of money had been confiscated in the form of drugs or other illegal items. The list was so specific that Tony had to wonder how on earth Saleem had got his information. The note made demands that the money and the drugs be collected and delivered as per instructions that they'd receive at a later date. It warned once again of the consequences of not meeting the demands. And tucked within the folds of the note were two Polaroid photographs, one of Abby, one of Lilly. Neither were bound or restrained, but Abby looked miserable and scared and Lilly looked . . . Tony felt a shiver creep down his back at the look in the infant's eyes. No child so small should look so old. He gingerly lay the phone and the note back down where he'd found it and returned his attention to Ziva. She was bleeding sluggishly from a wound just below her hair line over her left temple, and her face and neck displayed red marks that would eventually be bruises. Tony was sure that if her was to examine the rest of her body he'd find many more to go with all her other injuries, which in turn had only just started to heal. His mood darkened, and somewhere in the back of his mind he made a vow to put Saleem in the ground properly this time, even if he had to empty an entire clip of bullets into the bastard's head to do it. Tony did his best to shake off the dark thoughts and lifted Ziva's limp torso into his lap, cradling her head on his arm. His other hand drew his own cell out of his pocket, instinctively going straight for the button to speed dial Gibbs.

"Boss?"

Gibbs' reply was interrupted by static, but Tony could hear the impatience and annoyance in his question.

"Somewhere out in the woods, you'll have to get McGee to finish the trace on my cell," Tony answered, then paused to listen to Gibbs' next question, "She's alright, I think. Saleem and his one of his goons waled on her for a while, so I couldn't leave her . . . no, boss I didn't lose them, I put my tracker on their truck . . . sure, I'll stay put—" Gibbs was gone, leaving only distant muttering in the background as McGee worked his computer magic. Ziva murmured incoherently in Tony's lap.

"Ziva? Can you stand?" he asked. She didn't respond. "I'll take that as a no then," he said, more to himself than her. As if hearing his despondent tone, the heavens chose that moment to open up and send bucketfuls of rain to cheer him up. Tony glowered at the clouds overhead as he stuffed his phone into the safety of his jeans pocket and collected the things Saleem had left behind.

"Okay . . ." he groaned as he heaved Ziva into his arms and stood up, "time to get out of the rain. God, who knew you were such a lump!" he joked half-heartedly. He carried her to the edge of the dell, coming to a stop after his first failed attempt at scaling the slippery slope. Formulating a new plan, he flipped her over his shoulder and held her with one arm, wincing with regret that there wasn't a gentler way to handle her. Holding her so, he half-crawled, half-walked up the slope, using his free hand to steady himself each time he slipped on a patch of slimy leaves. Once at the edge of the clearing and on level ground he let Ziva's limp body slide off his shoulder, staggering when her feet touched the ground and she sagged against him, than hefted her back into his arms and carried her under the cover of the thick forest canopy. No longer feeling the full force of the rain, Tony decided that all there was to do was to sit and wait until help came, so he picked a comfortable looking spot and settled down. He chose a tree with thick, high roots and lowered Ziva to sit between them, with her back against the trunk like an armchair. He took a moment to feel her pulse and check her bleeding head, not really knowing what he was doing but too agitated to sit and do nothing. For the next half hour or so he alternated between pacing back and forth before Ziva's seat, sitting by her feet and trying to wake her, and barking down the phone to McGee to find out what was taking so long. And one point Ziva came to, and complained in a drunken manner that her head hurt and she was cold. She _was_ shivering, as was Tony, so he squeezed in between the tree roots next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her head sank onto his shoulder and she mumbled for a while before drifting back off to sleep. Alarmed, Tony gave her a little shake until she shifted and moaned in protest, after which Tony settled to telling of his heroic exploits with the truck in an effort to keep her awake.

". . . honestly, I was just James Bond or Tom Cruise in _Mission Impossible_ – except taller and less annoying . . ." his chatter died away at the sight of flashlights through the trees and distant voices. Tony froze and strained to hear if it was friend or foe. After a moment he caught his name amongst the shouting and recognised Ducky's voice. He stood up and hailed them, waving his cell phone over his head so that they might see the light from the screen. After a few minutes the flashlights grew closer, and Tony made out the silhouettes of Gibbs and the medical examiner. Tony sagged, his relief that the immediate danger was finally over making him realise just how exhausted he was. But it was okay, because they were safe. For now, at least.

There was a crash and a yelp of surprise, and Tony realised that Palmer must be with them, and had probably just fallen into a bush.

* * *

**If you like this, you might want to check out my new NCIS: Los Angeles fic, 'Her Partner'. **

**Please please PLEASE leave a review. I know it was a long time in coming, but I put a LOT of work into this chapter and I would really love some feedback.**

**Thanks for reading.  
**


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